


Cousland is Alive

by TurboNerd



Series: Cousland is Alive [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, F/M, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-11 00:46:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 46,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7017424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TurboNerd/pseuds/TurboNerd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Warden-Commander Cousland lost everything during the Blight; her family killed, the soul of her beloved destroyed by killing an Archdemon. Distracted by life and duty, she detaches from everything and everyone... this changes when she stumbles upon her old friend Zevran who will not allow her to hide any longer.</p><p>A huge thanks to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/HQuinn/pseuds/HQuinn/works">hquinn</a> and <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/etaeternum/pseuds/etaeternum/works">etaeternum</a> for being amazing betas. <3</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You cannot escape the masculine wiles of Zevran, Warden. Not even if you beat him up and run away as fast as you can. He’ll probably even find a way to get his shirt off.
> 
> For the sake of clarity, this journey you’re about to go on is not entirely in first person, only the journal entry it begins with.

_Dragon 9:34_

_Today marks 3 years since the end of the blight. I still miss my family. I miss Alistair and the life I almost had. I imagined myself more than capable of being a queen and regret missing out on becoming that. No desire for it now, I suppose. Not after losing Alistair. It’s strange, having almost had the life of a queen. Not many get to be a queen. Or get to be deeply in love. Still miss him with every breath. A constant ache in my neck and shoulders. I can’t seem let him go. I don’t know that I even want to._

_Just a brief respite would be… I can’t entertain the idea without almost feeling it. This… detachment. Living in the dark. I’m comfortable this way yet I know he wouldn’t want this for me._

_It doesn’t matter what he would want. I’m the one who has to carry on without the comfort of knowing I will meet my heart by the Maker’s side. The Grey Warden’s soul is destroyed, they said. How do they know? Why should a soul be destroyed? They know nothing. And I resent them for it._

_I woke today hearing him calling out to me and it drove me to madness. I ended up breaking a few things. I felt disoriented and humiliated. Still do, if I think about it too hard. Admittedly, it is a relief to actually feel something, even if it is rage and humiliation. I'm apparently still human._

_My mind keeps lingering on this. Why should a soul be destroyed? I need help with this. A mage. I could really use Anders, cheeky boy. I can’t think of a single thing he wasn’t available for. I miss him. All of my favorite people die violently._

_Wynne, though. As much as she gets on my last nerve, would be a good asset._

The Hero picked up her parchment from the table and tossed it into the fire. As she laid in the dark willing herself to sleep, hours went by, forming a rough plan to find Wynne. Two years prior in Amaranthine, Wynne said she would go to the College of Magi. Said she was living on borrowed time with her spirit friend; could she still be alive? Writing to her was an option, but The Hero was not good at waiting.

And besides, if anyone felt compelled to deny the Hero of Ferelden, she would want to hear why, first hand.

 

***** Val Chevin: An Inn off the Imperial highway.*****

 

_“Just so you know, if the king ever asks me to put on a dress and dance the Remigold, I'm drawing the line. Darkspawn or no.”_

_Lost in staring at his lips again as he spoke, she nearly missed the incredibly funny thing he just said. Her efforts to stifle her laughter resulted in multiple undignified snorts, which would have embarrassed her if she hadn't been so accustomed to it._

_“I think I'd like to see that.” Maker’s breath, what a beautiful man, dress or no._

_“For you, maybe. But it has to be a pretty dress.”_

_Duncan sighed his annoyance and she felt closer to Alistair. Playful, as a pair of unruly children bonding through their ability to torment a parent figure._

_“Alistair.” Duncan began, his eyes serious and grave, and the Hero cringed in imagining the oncoming scold. “You know the pretty dresses are reserved for senior Grey Wardens, not for new recruits to impress the ladies.”_

She woke with a loud snort and chuckle, her hand reaching out, seeking the warmth of his broad chest. “Alistair-”

Her hands found only a wide expanse of cool, downy mattress, and her lip quivered. Of course he wasn't there. _He hasn’t been here for three fucking years, Cousland, what the fuck is wrong with you?_

Emotions played through her. Anger, disappointment, loneliness, grief, and then finally devastating sadness. As she curled into a tight ball and hugged her knees, her eyes prickled with a strong need to cry. She closed her throat so not to scream, squeezed her eyes shut, clenched her jaw, breathed deeply and let herself tremble until it passed through her. The numbness had become easier to access; a necessity, given the fear of what was true might break her.

Dragging herself from the warmth of bed, she began her morning routine. A quick comb through her hair, armor on, pack ready, maps handy. Maker willing, weather permitting, she would arrive at The College of Magi late that day. Maker willing, Wynne would still be there, alive and well.

It had been three years since the passing (or total obliteration) of Alistair, the man who sacrificed everything to save the world. This was not a very fair trade, if you asked the Hero of Ferelden.

Then again, in her internal world, it was always up for debate. She acknowledged, in all fairness, there wouldn't be a world without a sacrifice. Unless she had insisted a little harder that Alistair should take part in in what she called, “Morrigan's Fantastic Ritual of Wonderment and Sanity.” Maybe, just maybe it would have worked; not knowing kicks her ass every day. She never thought she would be the one to say _‘Why, oh why, didn’t we say yes to the blood magic?’_

Headed for the exit of the inn, she felt the attention of many on her. A silence as she strode through with with head held high. Even in Orlais people knew her by sight, it wasn’t surprising anymore. Her hair stood on end as she thought she heard a familiar voice speak her name.

_Oh... Shit._

Looking over her shoulder she met the eyes of Zevran Arainai, former companion within the Hero of Ferelden's company. He smiled at her, a smile that touched the corners of his eyes and lit up his face. As he moved to stand, her heart leaped and she gasped, feeling adrenaline rush through her.

Turning her back to him she proceeded with wider strides. Pushing the heavy door with both hands, it hurled open in front of her and she headed toward the stables. She made quick work of getting rid of the horsemaster with a dismissive wave of her hand. She needed to saddle her own mount. She needed to look busy. She needed to _be_ busy.

He approached her, as she had anticipated he would. Her internal world became a flurry of panic and frustrated curses. _Shit shit shit SHOO fucking Zevran, SHOO!_ She didn't want another painful reminder. Didn't want to talk about what she had been up to. Didn’t want to rekindle old friendships, catch up or check in.

“It's been a long time, my Warden. You disappeared.” His voice was soft, inviting, and she could feel him watching her every move.

“I have nothing for you, Zevran.” She tried to speak firmly, but her voice quivered despite herself.

She wanted more than anything for him to never have approached her. Meeting him again… it was bizarre. It should not have happened. What was he _doing_ there? _In fucking Orlais?_

“Have I offended?” he offered gently, one hand ran through his hair and his other splayed out in front of him. He seemed nervous, as if trying to persuade her of something; she did not trust him.

“No.” _Not yet, you haven’t._ She turned to face him, standing still in her considerations, brow furrowed, finding naught but a strong desire for him to _fuck off_. As she met those soft eyes, she softened. For just a few moments, she considered trying to muster some form of politeness. Perhaps a little decorum, or whatever bullshit people tried to pull off when they run into an old friend they wish they hadn't.

Deep-brown eyes glared at him. Head down, hiding behind her curtain of silky black hair, she felt frozen. He looked stricken.

“We have... nothing to say then, to each other?” He spoke very slowly, calculated, her awkward rejection leaving him concerned and deeply confused. The Warden had been his first friend, and in the end, his only friend. This was not the same woman he knew and cared deeply for only three years ago.

 _Yes, we have nothing to say? No, we have nothing to say?_ She felt confused answering these kinds of questions. Conversations often went more flat and awkward than they had to. _Please leave. Remember me as I was, not what I have become._

“Warden-” Zevran began and she backed away, clenching her jaw. 

_Here it comes, empty words of comfort, unsolicited advice._

He told himself to be gentle with her, but he hadn't seen her in so long. For her to meet him with this blatant distrust after all they had been through together... he desperately wanted for her to snap out of this. She had to.

“The death of Alistair was tragic, but don't you think it’s time to rejoin the-” A quick palm to his chest cut him off short, making him stumble backward. Cocky, he knew, but this should not have been such a surprise to her. She often thrived beneath a little pressure, so his memory told him. How fragile had she become?

 _Do not speak his name to me_ she wanted to shout but the words caught in her throat, trapped behind clenched teeth. Their eyes met and she was rife with regret. The betrayal on his face, brought on by someone he profoundly respected, cared about... it hurt to see. His hand rested where she had struck him. And to think, he had taught her that one.

Maker, an apology lingered on her tongue as she stood there with her mouth open; shock and shame left her with the impulse to run. Turning away, she mounted and fled. _Cousland, you bitch, he was your friend._

 _Golden eyes looked so pained…_ The Warden’s face scrunched as she fought the lingering threat of tears. _Get over it, Cousland. If you could change the past you would have done it ten times over._

She relaxed her jaw, breathed deeply and slowly, placed her attention on her hands on the reins, the bend of her hips, the brush of hair against her cheek, the dirt on the road, the green of the trees, wind making her eyelashes flutter.

This served well in distracting her from the otherwise constant nagging ache of her grief and the confusion over why it wouldn’t leave her; not to mention the humiliation she felt at lashing out at everyone she cared for as if out of control. _Maker, Cousland, what is wrong with you?_

She saw the subtle gleam of a tripwire from the corner of her eye.

“Horse. Tripwire. _Horse!”_ She shouted, pulling back on the reins with too much force. And she knew better. And she even had a moment to feel stupid, having taken the time to inform the horse of a tripwire instead of utilizing those precious few moments. She could have pulled the reins a little sooner. Maybe a little gentler. _You’ve fucked up now, Cousland_ was the only message she had for herself as Horse reared back on her hind legs. She would have been thrown and it wouldn’t have been so bad had it not been for the stirrup holding onto her foot. Such was the Warden’s Luck.

Instead of landing on her ass and feeling like one, she flailed wildly for purchase. Cleverly, she flailed her wrist into a wrap on the reins, crying out at the snap of bone before it let her go. Foot still caught, she grabbed the very edge of her saddle, and she gasped at stomping hooves in her periphery. In trying to pull herself up, she flipped with a shriek and landed hard, face first in the dirt.

The convenient placement of the large stone her face smacked into would have made her laugh, were she awake.

Zevran observed her antics from a distance, comical at first, until he saw her tangle with the reins and flail about helplessly in an attempt to right herself. He urged his own mount to a run, cringing as he approached to hear the unpleasant sound of her forehead hitting the ground.

“Easy! Easy. Woah.” Zevran dismounted, commanding her horse to be calm with his stern tone. While it seemed he had the horse’s attention, it still stomped around, agitated, unwittingly threatening to crush her.

“Easy.” Zevran reached out a hand and approached slowly, imagining the beast could hear the undertones of urgency in his voice. Trying his best to calm it while fighting down his own frantic emotions, he spoke again, “Easy.”

Stroking its muzzle he grabbed onto the reins, patted the horse on the shoulder and moved slowly to release her foot from the stirrup.

He felt vaguely responsible for this mess, her discomfort had been obvious, but still he had pressed her. If he hadn’t, maybe she wouldn’t have run away so quickly or rejected him so harshly. She could reject him again if she wished, but only when she was well.

“What have you done, my Warden?” he whispered, turning her to see if she had even survived the fall. Pressing his fingers to her neck, he held his breath until he felt the beating of her heart. With a deep sigh of relief he busied himself in gathering her pack and the few contents that had been thrown.

He he felt remorse for saying what caused her to lash out at him. Given the soreness of his breastbone, he had hit a sore spot. His poor Warden must have been wasting away with grief all this time!

Gathering her in his arms, he felt sad for her. How long had she been alone? How long had she been… like _this?_ He understood very well how all-consuming grief could be. He hadn’t recalled her being so slight. Time, and life it seemed, had not been kind to her. Her dark locks had been unevenly shorn to the bottom of her chin. Dark eyes once smiling and bright were sullen on a backdrop of gaunt skin. Her propensity for speaking without pause for intake of air appeared to be a thing of the past. He couldn't help folding his arms around her for just a few moments. _Poor, soft Warden._

She accepted him into her circle instead of killing him. He certainly would not have chosen the same, were their situations reversed. Throughout the Blight she took care of everyone around her, unabashedly and with deep respect. He _wanted_ to care for her, to protect her, comfort and be a friend to her, just as she had done with him. He wished it had been her choice, and not an injury that had caused this desire to come to reality.

 

*******

 

_“Wait! Don’t! Please!” She shouted after him. He ignored her pleading. Ignored her! She reached out and shouted his name, warm tears streaming through dirt and blood on her cheeks._

_Look away, Nyla… look away..._

_Time slowed to a crawl. She watched in awe and horror as he impaled the archdemon through its skull. Alistair’s face, a snarl wracked with pain, his mouth opened wide with a cry she could only barely hear. He writhed, and it seemed like he was trying desperately to let go._

_It’s hurting him! Wynne, it’s hurting him… It’s hurting-_

She startled awake, his name a soft cry on her lips. Head throbbing, back aching, sharp pains in her hip, something was wrong with her left wrist. She scrambled to get a grasp on where she was, what happened, _who is touching me?_ She panicked, arching her back to fight against the warm weight upon her chest.

“Be still, my Warden.” A sturdy palm pressed on her breastbone. His voice was soothing, and the seriousness in his tone had her attention, but this pain… she could not be still. “You were thrown from your horse.”

“Zev! Threw my what?” She blurted, with a grimace at the din of her own voice. Sweating, writhing in pain beneath his hand. There was only one thing she was sure of in this moment and it seemed profoundly relevant. “It hurts!”

“Elfroot, your favorite flavor.” The good humor in his voice seemed forced, like his smile, as he rested a palm under her head. “Drink.”

She could never get used to the shit taste of elfroot. In an attempt to get it over with quickly, she clumsily swallowed a little too much. The tickle on her lungs made her cough and spray it back into his face, most of it landing in a small splash down the front of his shirt.

“It’s alright. I have more,” he spoke patiently, pressing another bottle to her lips.

She could already feel the throbbing in her head ebb away. She tried to sit up again and wailed, sharp pain shot up her arm like electricity. _This is too much. I want to be on my horse. I want to get to Cumberland._  

“Relax. It is broken. Did I wrap too tightly?” He pulled off his shirt and used it to wipe away remnants of elfroot potion from his face and threw it aside. When she didn’t respond, he gently felt her fingers and observed the color of them. The wrap seemed fine.

“I’m sorry I spat on you.” She rolled onto her side to face him, taking pressure off of the hip that pained her. Sitting up occurred as futile and she couldn’t think clearly enough to be stubborn. “I’m sorry I hit you.”

“I believe you,” Zevran spoke softly, watching her blink bleary eyes at the firelight. The light stung, making her head throb, and despite her struggles, she did not miss the way his eyes closed, the subtle sagging of his shoulders, and the way his hand drew up momentarily to touch the sore spot on his chest.

Feeling her remorse, she spent several moments reacquainting herself with his appearance.  His hair was styled the same, a fair bit longer. He looked older, his face more defined, lean, less boyish. He wore it well. His eyes gleamed catlike in the light of the fire.

“You spoke his name when you woke. You were dreaming?” He prodded her to speak in his attempts to have her feel some semblance of safety.

“Nooo.” She groaned pitifully and hid behind her hands, pressing her fingers firmly on her eyelids. _Why did he have to remind me?_

“Do you wish to rest?” With a soft cloth, he dabbed the sweat from her brow.

“No. I must get to the College of Magi. Wynne will help.” A gentle hand swept away the stray strands of hair stuck to her forehead. _Please don’t touch me this way._ This tender contact, something she hadn't felt in years, made her heart clench painfully in her chest as she drifted into a deep sleep on the cusp of tears.

Zevran felt somber looking down upon her as her sad eyes closed, and breathing steadied. He removed the rest of her Grey Warden armor, piece by piece until she wore only her simple shirt and breeches. He took a minute to stuff one of his clean shirts under the crook of her neck and laid a light blanket over her. His fingertips softly swept along her forehead to feel the swelling. It was worse than before and left him more than a little concerned.

Laying out his bedroll a respectful distance from hers, he cooked and ate, fed their mounts, cleaned various equipment, his own, then hers. He kept himself busy as he played memories of the many conversations they had together, the laughter.

They had been close friends, there was little this woman didn’t know about him; she pried, she was... disarming. When they spoke, he could feel her focused attention hanging on his every word. She _cared,_ and this was a unique experience to a former Crow. Eyes wide and attentive, she seemed enamored, and her eyes often followed the movement of his lips. The Warden had a rich appreciation for all things beautiful, and she loved fiercely; a brave woman. One wasn’t just given the impression that she was trustworthy, she actually was. And charming. Misers implored her to take their coin. Not to mention, the business end of the Warden was worthy of song. She played hard, but she Grey Wardened harder; he smiled and chuckled through his nose in remembering her words.

Her appearance had startled him; she still had a loveliness about her, he supposed, but she used to be… ample. He remembered her being quite built, strong, full of life and color. She had large bosoms pleasing to look at-  that hadn't changed much, her bosoms were doing quite well, but the rest of her… she was not... _healthy._

It seemed, to Zevran, she had adapted to a world that wasn’t final or true.

Life is not grief. It’s the calm after the storm. It’s going into the darkness to emerge again, more whole and full than before. It was she who helped him learn this, and he could not leave her stuck in the darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three years is a long time to put off facing your broken heart.
> 
> Fall away, Warden.  
> Zevran will catch you.

Zevran hadn’t slept all night, instead he kept watch, after all, someone set a tripwire and had caught his Warden unaware. He kept his armor on, feeling subtly paranoid and anxious. They were vulnerable, and he only had hoped they would be safe until dawn.

She was eerily still. It troubled him, left him with a sense of urgency, and he felt compelled to periodically check her for signs of life; surely she needed a healer. At dawn he tried to rouse her.

“Warden.” He stroked her cheek. “Wake up, my Warden.” He tried tapping her, misting her face with water from his fingertips. “Nyla, wake up,” he pleaded, giving her a little shake.

Coming to terms with the sudden urgency of finding help for her, he prepared for their departure. There was no question of whether or not he would take her to the College of Magi. Where there were mages. Where Wynne could help her. He sifted through her belongings to find her maps, and there were plenty.

He tethered their horses together, designating her mount to carry their belongings. His own would bear the burden of himself and his Warden. He was hopeful that with this arrangement, both beasts could bear the long journey ahead. 

He wore his full assassin regalia, in hopes any passers by would think twice before toying with them. Wrapping her in a cloak, he held her tight and began the quick-paced and arduous journey to the Circle of Magi, deviating from main roads and often struggling between the dead weight in his arms, and peering at the map.

He hadn’t the foresight to imagine what it would be like to transport a comatose person for an entire, rapid-paced twelve-hour journey. Transporting one to be dumped into the sea? Easy. Sling them over your shoulder. Over the rear end of your mount. Drag them. 

This was  _ hard.  _ Her comfort  _ mattered.  _ His arms frequently fell asleep and he needed to shift her in order to hold tight to the reins. He spilled water on her more than once, apologizing his guilt away each time. Troubling still, was her continued non-responsiveness.

Despite the silence of his companion, his thoughts couldn't leave her. Many of his fondest memories of her were sweet and, oddly enough, always accompanied by the presence of Alistair. He liked them both very much individually, but together they were dynamic. When there was laughter, they sometimes got carried away. Doubled-over, pink-cheeked and watching the other.

When one of them had a dark day, the other was right there, all compassion and understanding. There was sweetness to it, but Zevran did not envy these darker times. Stuck in sadness together, neither of them had the perspective to pull them out of it. Zevran felt a sense of pride in knowing he sometimes brought the perspective which helped them emerge from their shared darkness. Yes, they were quite a pair, and sometimes they allowed him to feel included.

When he had grappled with his own sad days, or upon seeing them slyly excuse themselves to retire for the night, he envied them. Sometimes it had him reminisce about Rinna, and he would miss her. If there was someone out there for him, Zevran hoped he would never find them; he could not imagine them surviving long.

His thoughts lingered on Rinna. The gleam in her eyes, her mischievity, her beauty, and how his heart seemed to close off completely after he had let Taliesen kill her. Seeing what was left of his poor Warden, he recognized she was stuck in her darkness. Perhaps she would allow him to offer her some perspective once more.  


 

*******

 

Nyla heard soft voices as she blinked rapidly, attempting to bring her eyes to focus. She wanted to stretch but her body felt awkward, folded, held still, snug and warm… like being cradled. The first thing that came into focus was a masculine jaw and golden hair on a backdrop of starry, cobalt blue sky. His mouth moved fast as he spoke in hushed tones, and his eyes wide.

She felt the urgency in his tone while she struggled with her sleep-addled mind. Fever-dreams lingered on the forefront of her thoughts, losing concepts that only moments ago made perfect sense.  _ Or am I still dreaming?  _ His cheek felt smooth and soft under her palm.

Zevran grew silent with a sharp inhale, looking down into big, dark eyes as her thumb drew a gentle line along his lower lip.

_ Tired, sad eyes.  _ She held his gaze, feeling only tenderness.  _ Everything is all right. _

“Warden,” he spoke reverently, relieved to see her awaken, taken aback by her tender touch. “Wynne has saved you. She is here.”

“You splinted her arm very well, Zevran.” Wynne’s dulcet tones cut through the fog in Nyla’s mind with such clarity. “She should be all right now.”

“Zev.” she wriggled in his arms, feeling a sudden impulse to unburden him. “Sorry.”  _ For so many things. _

He placed her on unsteady legs and she held onto his arm, winded and head spinning for a few moments as she oriented herself.

"Wynne, I must speak with you.” Her excitement and urgency were getting the better of her, and she was forgetting very important things. “Where are my things? What about Horse? Is my horse all right?" The sound of her own voice sounded foreign to her, having said so many words after speaking so little in recent months.

“Everything is safe with your horse. She is well, and resting in the stables," Zevran held her steady as she wavered on her feet, and unconsciously, she pushed him away.

"Thank you, Zevran, would you mind getting them for me?" She turned to Wynne, burning to speak with her, closer to relieving a heavy burden. "Wynne, may we talk?"

Zevran left and the Warden followed Wynne, without a care for being barefoot and dressed only in her underarmor. Innards jittering with excitement, she had finally made it. Though, not on her own.

The enormity of Zevran’s deed hit her, and she had a strong impulse to run to him, pour out her gratitude. She also wanted to slap herself for being so thoughtless.  _ And now I'm making him play fetch for me. Cousland, you bitch. _

"You do realise that man carried you from the Free Marches border all the way here? He did have some help finding me once you were in the city, but of course you're not exactly unrecognisable and people always want to help the Hero of Ferelden." Wynne stopped to give the Warden a cursory glance. "Have you been eating, dear? You're practically disappearing."

"Is that so?" Nyla asked with a sigh. She didn’t care what Wynne thought, she wanted her to stop talking.

"I don’t mean to go on, I'm just worried for you, as is Zevran. We want you to be all right. We want to see you well and we haven’t heard from you in so long… surely you understand my concern."

The Hero of Ferelden side-eyed Wynne with a furrowed brow, and tried to recall whether or not the woman had always been so overwhelmingly fucking  _ chatty, _ which she remained, all the way to her room.

“Maker's breath, where have you been?” Wynne heated a kettle with her magic and poured them each a cup of tea. “You look horrible, dear. Like you’ve been stuck in the deep roads for two years without sunlight or food.”

“I’m fine, Wynne.” Nyla didn’t have the energy to take offense, and she had more important things on her mind than being unattractive. “I thought you might be able to help me with something.”

“I can certainly offer you a meal, to start.” 

Clearing her throat and sipping her tea, soothing heat flooded her chest. “The Wardens claim that the soul of one who has killed an archdemon is destroyed. Morrigan agrees that the two souls cancel each other out. Do you know this to be certain? Do you know anything at all?”

“Merciful Andraste,” Wynne closed her eyes for a moment, feeling saddened as it more fully dawned on her what the poor girl must have been going through all these years. “The darkspawn army did retreat as the archdemon died, and we did see Alistair-”

“I know-” Cringing, Nyla implored her to stop with a raised hand. “I know what we saw, Wynne. The darkspawn army retreated, it is safe to assume the archdemon’s soul did not take residence in one of them.”

“Yes. More than that, we have no other means of knowing.” She sipped her tea, rapt attention on Nyla’s jittery hands and wide eyes. “Why do you ask?”

“I need the truth,” Nyla asserted with a firm nod. “That is all.” 

“You believe I could help you? I wouldn’t know where to begin. How does one prove something  _ doesn't _ exist? When would you consider your search satisfied?” Confounded, Wynne shook her head with a sigh. Nyla was simply smarter than this, and grasping at straws in a misguided attempt at closure.

“I once knew a spirit of Justice. He spoke of existence beyond the Fade, where spirits go after they die. He knew very little about it, much in the way we understand little about what happens when we die. If both Alistair's and the Old God’s souls died, perhaps they went there. Perhaps there is a way for me to explore this realm without destroying my own soul.” 

Hopeful eyes rested upon Wynne, as she hadn’t felt excited about anything in years, and her spirits lifted. Someone was  _ engaging  _ with her, on something that held such importance for her. She felt…  _ hope. _

“I have to admit, this is a topic that fascinates me. I have heard a similar tale, though I don’t know of any accounts of traveling to realms beyond the Fade. More importantly, do you truly want to know whether or not his soul still exists?”

“Yes, of course!” she nodded enthusiastically. “I need to.”

“What would happen if it turned out to be true that the soul of Alistair is entirely gone? Will you feel better?”

“No,” she whispered with a shudder. “But I would know the truth.”

Wynne surveyed her for a long moment, and spoke to Nyla with a gentle, firm tone.

“It sounds to me like a foolish endeavor. A means of twisting the dagger of losing him.” Remorse washed through her as the Hero’s face fell. Wynne loathed to be harsh, but she had to do  _ something.  _ “I believe you need to let him go.”

“II can't simply let go.” A forlorn gaze fixated on tiny flecks of leaf floating in her tea. “I have tried.”

“Elaborate. Tell me what you have tried.” She leaned forward. She hadn’t intended to simply reject Nyla and send her on her way. Wynne  _ wanted _ to help. “Perhaps we could try something different?”

“This  _ is  _ me trying something different.” She sighed and blinked away the dampness in her eyes. “I dream of him. I hear his voice, feel his weight on the bed with me as I sleep. I lose time in memory of him. I'm haunted, Wynne. Incomplete. Something is very wrong.”

“Have you grieved properly? Spoken to friends?” Wynne asked again, as the Warden seemed to be dodging her query. She had doubts that Nyla had done much in service of recovery, and it was more likely she had let this wound fester. “Have you done anything to unburden yourself?”

“I don’t know how to do that. Maybe trying to find him is part of it.” It all seemed to be going too fast, Nyla’s heart beat faster under Wynne’s keen attention.

“Why did you come to me?”

“Morrigan is more likely to know about this kind of thing but she fucked off pretty quickly when she didn’t get what she wanted. I came to you because you are a mage and you have many mages here. I thought you might have knowledge I don’t have, and you have tools available to you.” 

Tucking hair behind her ear with a shaky hand, it became abundantly clear to Nyla; Wynne wouldn’t help, only pull on her aches.  _ Warm cup in my hands, tingling, wet heat on my lips. _

“I will be honest with you, Nyla,” she sighed, steeling herself to be strong for this girl so dear to her heart. “I fear you are setting yourself up for more hurt than you know how to deal with.”

“I must try. I can’t do  _ nothing.  _ ” She insisted, her eyes were near overflowing. More pressing still was a simple desire to just be fucking  _ understood.  _ “I hear his voice, I feel him walking with me but when I turn to speak, I find nothing. What if he  _ is  _ calling out to me?” She stifled a sob, bit her lip, her shoulders trembled. “He didn’t deserve this. He has to be out there somewhere.”

Wynne had no words. For once, she felt stuck. It was true, neither of them had deserved this, but the reality remained; Alistair was gone, and Nyla remained. Wynne absolutely wanted to help, but she wouldn’t encourage festering wounds. Nyla needed to  _ heal. _

“He was so precious to me...” She spoke softly, feeling lost, her shoulders slumped. “I could have… Morrigan-”

“Oh, dear. You need a good cry.” Wynne attempted to display her compassion, but she had a sense the young woman had far too little trust in her to take any advice at this point, and still she tried.

“ _ More  _ crying? In service of  _ what? _ ” Nyla's voice raised. She put her tea down and stood, in a sudden wash of panic.  _ I won’t break. I’m not breaking. The floor under my feet, my hair brushing my cheek, cool night air on my hands _ . “Help me or don’t, Wynne, but don’t tell me what I need.”

“I want to help you, but I won’t help you in the way you are asking. It doesn’t feel right to do that.” Wynne stood shakily, following the Warden in her few steps. As far as Wynne was concerned, Nyla believed she so desperately needed something that couldn't exist, and she pressed her harder. “You need to heal. Let go of Alistair. He’s gone.”

“Don’t.”  _ My hair between my fingers, the bend of my knees, my chest rising with my breath.  _ “I can't.”

“Can't what, dear? Heal?” she moved a step closer, giving her rapt attention, poised to challenge her assertion.

“Stop it, Wynne.” Nyla backed away, palms held out in front of herself as breath quickened. Wynne's eyes followed her- Curiosity? Care and… something else. Blame?  _ Does she know about Morrigan? No, she couldn’t know. It wasn’t my fault! I didn’t want this! _

“Stop what?” Wynne stood stock still, not moving any closer to her, her confusion was as genuine as her desire to help. “Am I... doing something?”

_ “That! _ Stop!”  _ Oh fuck, it’s my fault… Alistair I’m sorry…  _ Her back met the wall and she looked out the window, seeking salvation from the woman's probing eyes, disregarding the escape given the immense drop below them.  _ “Stop trying to make me feel this!” _

Wynne backed away from her, hoping Nyla would calm; she had pushed her too hard.

The moment the Warden felt Wynne retreat she realized how badly she wanted her not to. How frustrating it was, that she needed this amorphous  _ something _ . It was right there within her grasp, and it had abandoned her, left her with this insufferable weight.  _ Again.  _

And the infernal  _ contradiction  _ of it all! Come here so I can push you away!  _ What am I supposed to do?! _

Nyla hurled her fist through the window, her cheeks heated and head pounding with the rapid beating of her heart. Sharp pains fueled her anger and felt satisfying. For mere moment, she was profoundly stunned by her own behavior. Propriety told her to apologize, but the urge was overridden by her need to let something out.  _ Anything. _

“Three years!” She shrieked at the sprinkling of stained glass littering the floor.  _ “Three fucking years!”  _ Sinking to her knees, her palms pressed into her eyes. “He made me watch him die, and left me here to fucking live with it! I should have been the one!”

The door flung open and Zevran rapidly unburdened himself of the significant weight of their retrieved possessions. Wynne looked at him helplessly, her eyes misted over, fingers resting on her mouth which hung open in awe. Kneeling over a sprinkling of broken glass, blood trickling down her arm; it didn’t take effort to see what she had done. He crossed the room in long strides.

“I should make her sleep-” Wynne offered, subtly waving her hand and healing Nyla’s wounds with barely a thought.

“No, Wynne. Not again.” He knelt in front of her and placed firm palms on her arms, guiding her to sit up. She followed his lead unsteadily. Her breath was quick, chest quivering hiccups and choking sobs were wracking her body. “Slow, deep breaths, Nyla.”

“Zevran!” She cried out with an impulse to lash out, until she looked at him through the storm in her eyes. The unchecked concern in his gaze held her, giving her a moment of solid footing, allowing her to breathe. Her face fell, rage washing away with his contact.

She anticipated his demand for her to be calm, shut up, get over it. She thought he was going to treat her the way she treated herself.

When he did not, she felt lost and horror stricken.All she had held in for three years confronted her in a perfect storm; fear, guilt, horror, the disgust she had for herself, the soul crushing failure of losing the king of her beloved country, the last of the Theirin bloodline and the one who held her heart. Coming apart at the seams.  _ Afraid. _

_ The weight of Zevran’s hands on my shoulders, the floor under my knees, deep breaths and soft amber eyes holding me. _

And for a moment everything was so still and so silent she thought she could hear the sound of her own heart crumbling.

“Zevran, I killed the King of Ferelden and broke my own heart. I cannot decide which transgression is the worst of them.”

The crushing weight of her words crashed into him. Heavy. Solid. Spoken with resolve and remorse. Unadulterated pain. He could sink through the floor with her. It felt all too familiar.

And still, why did she take responsibility for Alistair’s choice? Zevran fought his urge to oppose her; though her words burned, they were her truths, and he would not deny her them. He only stayed with her, held her arms firmly and spoke his truths in turn.

“And despite these transgressions, there are those in this world that love you.”

Something within herself shifted, and she wondered if this was it; the breaking which had terrified and tormented her for so long.  _ Who would love me? Why would they? What the fuck is there left to love?  _ As silent sobs wracked her body, she felt herself slipping just a little more. Zevran moved closer, offering himself to her as a pillar for her to lean on. 

If she hadn’t the strength to hold the weight of this, he would hold it with her.

“I am here, Warden,” he insisted, even as she made a half-hearted attempt to shake his hands from her shoulders. His response, a soft voice filled with resolve, “I’m not going anywhere.”

_ ‘I thought maybe I could say something. Tell you what a rare and wonderful thing you are to find amidst all this... darkness.’  _ Alistair's voice chimed in her memory making her let loose a mournful cry; every picture of him in her mind’s eye, every terrible joke, every tinkle of laughter or moan of pleasure locked in her memory hurt like the sweetest torture.  _ My sweetest memories are my greatest torment. _

He had been so good to her, said such sweet things, made her laugh, quenched the loneliness of some of her darkest hours. He took her as his first lover, wanted her to be his wife, trusted her to be his queen, to stand by him always and Maker, she had wanted to so badly. They were supposed to be together forever, and when it came time, hold each other and go into the Deep Roads as all Grey Wardens. A life of dignity, a graceful end; she would have neither.

Her hands drew up to cover her face and she tried to breathe it away.  _ My fingers on my forehead, wet tears tickling my chin, the heat of Zevran standing close to me. _

_ ‘No, I can’t… I can’t do it. You can’t ask me to do this, not like this.’ _

“Why wouldn’t he do it?” The rage she felt was insurmountable, as was her remorse.  _ Why didn’t I argue more? I could have… what could I have done?  _ She sobbed and groaned, curling inward until she was met with the warmth of Zevran, her palms resting flat against his chest.  _ I could have fucking begged. _

Nyla began to tremble as her fingers slowly curled like claws against his chest. Her lamentations made his hair stand on end. His Warden’s heart had been broken and she had many unspent tears, but his desire to be there for her was strong. He wrapped himself around her, curling around her, surrounding her with his warmth.

Resistant to comfort, resistant to this  _ thing  _ happening to her, the Hero wanted to get back on her horse, breathe, and outrun the storm as she had done so many times before.

He held her tightly despite her feeble struggle. A strong hand weaved into her dark hair, cradled her head, and pressed her ear to his heart. Despite herself, this was a comfort, and Nyla couldn’t help but surrender, allowing herself to be drawn further into the maelstrom of remorse and memory. 

She cried out his name, perhaps more than once. It didn’t matter anymore. She was lost, remorseful wailing becoming only a subtle background to tumbling thoughts, sweet, torturous memories, unfulfilled promises.

Everything she had was Alistair’s for the taking and he responded in turn. They threw themselves all in, clinging to each other like each day was their last, as it very well could have been. The other could die at any moment, there was no  _ time  _ to take it slow. So they didn’t.

So much unlocked potential, so many lost plans. Maker, she was going to be everything Alistair wanted and more. She would be his queen and fight against those who would seek to manipulate or harm him. She was not prepared to lose him, not in any sense of the word. Nyla was lost, broken and unable to pick up the few pieces she could find.

She had never imagined the chasm in her life Alistair would leave behind. So much energy, so much devotion,  _ she needed more time.  _ She wasn’t ready to let go and never had been. Meeting this harsh realization, she wailed openly into the warmth of Zevran, his gentle touches soothed the ache of it. 

As Zevran moved, she clung to him in breathless weeping, as if pleading for him to stay. He wanted to  _ do  _ something for her, wanted comfort for her, wanted her to feel safe. He looked at the bed, and when he looked at Wynne she gave a small nod and excused herself; it served no one for her to hover when Zevran had her, and could bear all the Warden unleashed.

“Come.” he commanded gently, and white-knuckled fists trembled and uncurled, releasing his shirt. Helping her to stand, he lead her to the bed, pathing around shards of glass. As he guided his poor Warden to lie down, her hands remained balled in his shirt and he followed her. As they laid together, she let herself spend soft, crooning tears and he held her tightly against him, brushed her hair with his fingers, rested his cheek on the top of her head.

“Warden, give life to your thoughts behind the tears?” He left the gentle invitation with no demands, and it was a long time before she spoke.

“He used to kiss my shoulders in the morning and whisper that I am wonderful,” she whispered, followed by a soft and tearful chuckle. “Then he would tickle me with cold hands and tell me to get my ass out of bed.” She sniffed, an upwelling of tender joy encouraged her to share more. “I am shamefully ticklish. A cold morning couldn’t keep me in that tent.” 

“Is that why-” Zevran laughed, and she backed away from him to take in his smiling face. “You would run screaming out of the tent in nothing but your smalls and a shirt?”

“Yes! Do you remember the time I pulled the tent away with me and left him standing there with naught but his hands for clothes? I still am astounded at my success.”

“Yes!” Zevran idly swiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb. “One morning, while you were running away screaming and laughing, and snorting of course, Morrigan thrust her breakfast to the ground and spoke with her usual disgust: ‘Well, I just saw Alistair’s cock.’”

“Did she?” A peal of laughter came from her, undignified snorts and all, and she wiped her nose with her sleeve, newly fallen tears slid down her cheeks.

“And of course I look. By then he had covered himself with his hands. It was very disappointing.” They laughed, Zevran felt pleased with himself as her hand rested again on his chest.

“Can I tell you a secret, Zev?” Her face had fallen again, growing serious. “Morrigan had an offer. She said it would save the person who took the final blow. I asked Alistair to do this ritual and he said he couldn’t. Not just that… he raged at me and dismissed me from his room as if I were someone else. He had never treated me that way before.”

“Was the ritual so bad?” Zevran was deeply confused by this.  _ He could have lived?  _ As she told him the details, her face turned a deeper shade of pink, and her tears built in intensity. “All he had to do was share pleasure with a beautiful woman?” He tried to keep his tone soft, but the incredulity, the frustration, was clear. 

“I don’t like to think about it as sharing pleasure when I refer to this,” Nyla growled and curled into him again. “I much prefer to never refer to this.”

“Then we won't,” he added softly, and then upon examination, a sharp realization hit him. “The choice was to share your lover with another woman or lose your lover forever. This was a very painful choice for you.”

“It  _ was  _ painful, and of  _ course  _ I wanted him to do it. And he lashed out at me as if I were unreasonable! And now he’s  _ gone!  _ Leaving me alone was somehow  _ preferable  _ to..” She began to weep again, and Zevran felt angry for her. He imagined himself punching Alistair in the jaw for leaving her like this; twisted and incomplete. None of this was fair, and the tragedy of it all left him with a sudden urge to cry with her.

He lifted her chin to look at him. Her hair was standing in all directions, her eyes swollen from the many tears that continued to fall. It hurt him to see her in so much pain.

“I’m sorry he left you this way. He couldn’t know what it would do to you. None of this was your fault.” He wanted her to understand these things so badly, but all he got in return was a pained stare and intensified weeping. She curled up against him and he heard her whisper.

“I don’t want to talk anymore.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They need to work out some stuff, but it'll be okay!
> 
> Wynne is a serious pain in the Warden's ass, but she _does_ have a point.
> 
> Zevran, how did you get so precious?

Waking felt easier than it had in many years, as the Warden opened her eyes after a dreamless sleep. So warm and soft. Their legs entangled, her arms curled against herself and his wrapped snugly around her. Her head throbbed, her eyes sore, and she needed water. With her heart tender and smarting from all that transpired, she almost had no room for embarrassment.

While the ache of Alistair remained, the Hero had no mistaken thoughts of his being present. He was gone. It still hurt, perhaps always would, but for once she wasn't hit with the harshness of rediscovering the loss of him. This, she noted, was an improvement.

The sun shone through the stained glass window, bathing Zevran in a warm glow of multicolored light while he slept. The slow drawl of his breath was soothing, his warmth welcoming, and it surprised her to discover that she did not mind this at all. She felt… _safe._ It had been so long since she allowed anyone close enough to touch her.

“Zevran.” She whispered in an attempt to wake him. It felt odd to say his name again. It felt odd to even be in his presence. Much less in Navarra, in Wynne’s room, _cuddling;_ this whole thing struck her as incredibly bizarre. “Zev?”

_Naked beneath him, she moaned his name, her hand drawing a lazy line down his bare chest. 'Zev…’ The gentle croon of his name dripped with desire as hazy eyes held his. She writhed, curves in his periphery beckoned his touch…_

He mumbled and sighed, tangling his body more firmly with hers. Overpowering her in an inescapable cuddle. When his cheek nuzzled her bosom, Nyla sighed in amused annoyance. A warm flush trickled up her neck and into her face, and she couldn’t decide if she should wake him to share in the embarrassment, or wait for it to pass. _As if this man has any shame,_ she chuckled to herself. Zevran shifted and his arousal pressed against her hip, making the heat of her cheeks intensify. Her eyes grew wide, eyebrows raised, and a fit of silent laughter rose from deep within her chest. She couldn’t remember the last time she laughed like this. She could, however, remember the last time she felt an erection. The thought made her go quiet, but she couldn’t lay in bed and mope forever.

“Maker’s grapes. Wake up and get off of me.” She tried wriggling from beneath him and succeeded in only freeing one leg. Eventually, with an exasperated sigh, she forfeited. “Fuck. Zev…”

_Playful giggles rose from her as he clasped her hands, pinned them above her head, adorned her breasts with much needed kisses, concentrating on the skin covering her precious heart. ‘Fuck me, Zev,’ she pleaded._

He drifted awake to the sound of her laughter, and he smiled sleepily, his eyes still closed. It took him a few moments to realize he clung tenaciously to her soft form. Such dreams were not uncommon, but waking up to Nyla seemed to quell the loneliness that usually followed.

“Morning.” He didn’t remember falling asleep, and somehow he had managed to sleep so deeply without a dagger at hand; then again, he had been awake for a day and a half. He lifted his head from her soft, ample bosom; an accidental transgression he had already managed to forgive himself. With a sleepy chuckle, he settled his chin gently in the space between her breasts, “I had a nice dream.”

“I…” She chortled at the subtle blush of his cheeks; it was _adorable._ Clearing her throat, she continued, “I noticed.”

When their eyes met, he discovered her pink cheeked with her familiar, happy smile, snorty laughter he had missed. He couldn’t help laughing with her as he extracted himself shamelessly, erection and all, from her person. He had truly missed his Warden's infectious laugh.

“Pardon me, my Warden,” he spoke through a yawn, feeling the freshness of rest as he elongated his body in a satisfying stretch. Given her jovial demeanor, she had taken no offense to their closeness, so he had no impulse to offer an apology.

When Nyla sat up, they observed each other in silence. Though her heart still felt heavy, there was a lightness that hadn’t been there before. She enjoyed how familiar, rested and peaceful he looked. She couldn’t quite nail it, but something felt different. She felt closer to him, grateful for his friendship and support, but there was something else. He was… more… something. She indulged in a rich sigh, enjoyed his lazy smile, felt feminine and increasingly more bashful beneath his gaze; he always did look _that_ good straight out of bed.

“You feel a little better today, no?” He spoke gently, delighting in the way her hair had succumbed to utter madness. Her eyes were swollen but they were clearer, she was laughing and smiling. He celebrated these differences and had a strong urge to lay her in the sun, to see her as colorful and radiant as his memory of her.

“I do feel somewhat better, but I can’t cry forever.” She sighed and swallowed back tears. There wasn’t even a thought to latch onto, something to cry over, she just felt more tears.

“Who says you can’t cry forever?” He argued, holding back the desire to lay his hands on her again. Something about her beckoned his touch, but she was not his to lay hands on. One night of cuddling did not give him license to paw her at his every whim, despite his strong desire to.

“I do.” She closed her eyes and felt the irritation with herself, and discomfort. She needed water, food… hunger? She couldn’t remember the last time she felt hunger. When she opened her eyes, she was surprised by his relaxed gaze still on her. “I’m feeling hungry, Zev.”

Knowing his own experience of grief, how it numbed him, sent him careening between rage and sadness; what time was there to feel hungry or tired? Or to feel desire of any kind? This was very good.

“Then we shall eat.” He chuckled, unable to contain his mirth. “This hair!” His fingers playfully ruffled through it. She always did look a mess straight out of bed.

“Yes, it’s probably awful, and still it manages to be the least of my problems.” She all but bounded out of bed, avoiding the sprinkling of glass on the floor. _Note to Cousland, send Wynne a whole lot of coin to repair stained glass._

Once she paused to take it all in, the world _felt_ different. There was more color. She felt, not just noted, her feet on the ground. Air slid more easily into her lungs and there was a sweetness to it. The difference was _stark,_ and she felt immediately the grief of having lost it for… Maker, years.

“Three fucking years, Cousland,” she whispered to herself with a shake of her head.

“That is a long time.” Zevran responded gently. “And you are not to blame.”

 _Fucking tears again._ She needed this to be over. She needed to die or get over it, something had to give. _Weak, Cousland. Weak._ “Then who is to blame?” She challenged, frustration and pain in her hard stare.

“The voice that keeps telling you everything you feel is the wrong way to feel.” He insisted in firm tones. “Tells you that you are worthless, and you don’t deserve love. _You_ are not this voice, Warden.”

He could feel her attention on him, hanging onto his every word just like always. Her anger dissipated, and innocent eyes bore through him. Silence dragged on almost to the point of discomfort.

“Andraste’s ass, Zevran.” There was delight in seeing the tragic hilarity and the wide-open wound exposed by the truth in his words, as she wept and laughed at the same time. “How do you come up with this stuff? Am I hearing the wisdom of Antivan whores?”

He rolled his eyes and nodded. “Yes, yes, the whores told me this.”

The weight and lightness of her being as she hid behind her hand, fluctuating between tears, laughter and undignified snorting made him want to kiss her. She felt so real to him in this moment, his memory of her becoming more clear. _This_ was what he missed. _This_ was the light he didn’t want to see snuffed out and torn from the world. Depth, profundity, hilarity, _yes._

Their heads whipped toward the door as a gentle tap caught their attention. Wynne gingerly stepped in, surprised to see their faces looking happy, bright and rested. She held a tray of food and a pitcher of cool water, feeling a twinge of guilt for interrupting their sweet moment. Someone had to be the bearer of bad news, she could handle this.

“May we eat together?” Wynne felt more nervous, and consequently more resolved, when Zevran eyed her warily; the Warden had her eyes on the food, as was typical of a Warden.

“Thank you, Wynne, yes.” The Warden approached the small table and chairs they had taken tea the night before, feeling almost shy, unsure of how much of her fit Wynne had witnessed.

Nyla ate slowly, deliberately, relished the cold water, the vivid flavor of food, and it was the most satisfying meal she had in… _three fucking years._ She shuddered and her eyes moistened, afraid of the dark place she could so easily slip back into. Zevran brushed her arm gently, bringing her a subtle comfort. Sighing, she met Wynne’s sympathetic gaze.

“Dear, I hate to bring this to you when you’re in the midst of… an ordeal, so to speak, but this is what you came here for and I’m going to address it frankly. I spoke with Grand Enchanter Josephus. That he knows of, there are no means of exploring this place your spirit of Justice spoke of. Where spirits go when they die… this is simply a query no one has yet had the curiosity to explore.”

The moment after Wynne spoke, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, feeling as if she were the villain in Nyla’s story. She had a strong desire to bring her good news, to tell her for certain that Alistair’s soul was somewhere, or not. Even though she knew her apology would likely be ill received she felt compelled to give one. “I’m sorry, Nyla.”

“I understand. Thank you.” While Nyla kept her tone neutral, her appetite plummeted, the food in her mouth lost its flavor. Was there a reason Wynne felt the need to bring it up again after making her intent clear the previous evening?

Zevran did not like this sudden change in Nyla; her food abandoned, her posture stiffened. He wanted to hold her, make her laugh until she was again comforted. As angry as he wanted to be at Wynne, this wasn’t her fault. Nyla had a query, Wynne couldn’t help what the answer would do to her. But still, Zevran’s impulse, his _desire,_ was to protect his Warden.

“You mentioned something last night.” Wynne began slowly with a pointed glance at Zevran to be sure he knew he should pay attention, “Destroying your soul?”

“I don’t remember saying that.” Nyla stared at the floor. Where was the peace she felt just moments ago? The very air felt like a heavy weight upon her. She felt so _good, so alive,_ just moments ago. Why did she feel cold, unsafe? As if she were alone in this?

“Did you have a means of-”

“Killing an Archdemon.” She looked up again, glaring, a dare for her to challenge. “Since no one has any other solutions for me, or they are unwilling to try,” she growled.

“I was afraid you might say that.” Wynne met her cold stare. “Would you start another Blight to find him again?”

“For fuck’s sake, Wynne, no!” She spoke incredulously, frustrated, running a shaky hand over her head. “Why would I want that? I don’t need an entire Blight to find an Archdemon. I will go to the Deep Roads, seek one out. It might take my entire lifetime, I may not even find one, but at least I would spend my time doing something other than living in this… _void_.”

“What if you woke an Archdemon and didn’t succeed in killing it?” Wynne challenged. The girl had to have some sense; she couldn’t possibly find an Archdemon. She would be walking into a darkspawn horde to her death. Wynne knew this and she didn’t believe for a moment the Warden didn't know it as well; the real purpose of the argument was to give Zevran a broader understanding of what he dealt with.

Zevran, a silent witness to their argument, felt his heart sink hard. Nyla didn't want to be alive anymore, had taken on a task that would kill her, and this hit too close to home.

Nyla stood and moved across the room to her belongings with wide strides. It was time to go. No more nagging, shitty advice, pushing and prodding and just… _pissing her off._

As Nyla would say: she's allergic to being cornered. “I don’t owe you any explanations.”

“Alistair would not want this.” Wynne kept her voice soft, reminding herself someone needed to say these things to the Hero, to point out the flaws in her thinking.

 _“Braska!_ Wynne. Leave now.” Zevran caught his feisty Grey Warden by the shoulders and held her. He wasn’t sure, but her stiffened muscles and subtle tilt screamed that she was about to coldcock an old woman; he was not okay with this. He hadn’t meant to speak so harshly, “Please, Wynne, let us speak alone.”

“Take all the time you need, dear,” she breathed, flattening her hair with a nervous hand as she moved toward the door. “I will be nearby if you need me.”

She could feel the heat of Zevran standing close behind her. Firm hands on her arms did nothing to slow her heart, or calm the angry vibrations throughout her body.

“We need to part ways, Zevran.” _The floor beneath my feet, the breath in my lungs._ “I’m not the same anymore. I can’t... I can’t make you be in this with me.” _my hands clenched into fists, the hunch of my shoulders._ “I care far too much for you to drag you-”

“Nyla.” He moved in front of her but she didn’t meet his eyes, they remained unfocused in the space beside him, her breath quick. “Look at my face. Right here on my lips where your eyes always want to be.”

Reluctantly, she pointed her eyes where his finger lay. He was right. She always liked to watch his mouth move as he spoke; plump, shapely lips and pointed canine teeth were alluring, even fun to watch. She felt the soothing presence of someone who knew her; someone who deserved better allies than she.

“Now up here, to my eyes.” Keeping his voice gentle, he saw the tension relax from her jaw. Gazing into big, dark eyes, he thought for a moment of what to say. To tell her what she _should_ do wouldn't be fair, and could ignite her temper, so he went a layer deeper, exposing himself to an uncomfortable degree. “Please, don’t run away again.”

“I’m going to put on my armor, and I’m going to.” Moments after she spoke it, her breathing finally slowed. Seeing his hurt stung, as his cheeks reddened and jaw stiffened. She spoke softly, imploring him to understand, even as her resolve crumbled. “Asking you to follow me would be asking too much.”

He struggled with this, staring at her with his brows drawn together. Asking too much? She had never asked him for a single thing! Everything she received from him was offered, _how dare_ she throw his care back into his face. _As if I don’t matter to her! As if last night was nothing!_

With a calming sigh, he remembered what it had been like for him; stuck in an endless ache, believing he didn’t even deserve friends, unsure he was worthy of the very air he breathed. Nyla had coaxed him from this place. Insistent. So soft. He kept his voice steady and his tone serious. She _had_ to hear him. He _knew_ he could help her.

“Warden. Nyla, you were the first person I ever truly trusted. The first person I ever called friend. It was in my relationship to _you_ that I learned what was possible. Have you considered that I _want_ you to trouble me?”

Zevran bared his soul to her in a way she had never seen. He wore a pained expression, and the urge to take that pain from him was bigger than any resistance to feeling closer to him. In that moment, all she wanted in life was to see the soft man who had been there moments before. Heated words followed, and she felt so open, so ripe to hear them. He spoke gently, but the passion and insistence in his tone remained.

“I am _here,_ Nyla, by virtue of my choosing, with the freedom _you_ helped me achieve. You ran away, left me scared for you, and as if my care did not matter. When you left, it felt to me like losing one more woman I care for. Only a pair leather gloves to remember you by... how could you not think that would be a slap in my face? Did you think for a moment what might happen to me when you walked away? How I might feel?”

“No... I- I didn’t think you would care,” she managed to stutter.

Her breath caught in her chest, acknowledging the flaw in her thinking, how selfish she had been. Lost in her world of grief and longing, she had abandoned those important to her, as if she wasn’t important to them. An apology felt insufficient.

Feeling heavy under his pained stare, Nyla sat with every passionate word he had spoken; she had left _him_ feeling abandoned. _That wasn't what I wanted for you,_ she lamented, remembering the sweet smile and jovial laughter of her bloodthirsty friend. Zevran seemed so different… so healthy, open. So warm.

His brow furrowed in concerned disbelief, his lips trembled, the tension in his cheeks spoke of unshed tears held back by hope. As her heart opened to him a little more, he mirrored her expression, the tension melted from his face into something softer, sadder. _So warm._

“And now you wish to walk into the Deep Roads and perish. Is there nothing worth living for? Far be it from me to tell you how or when to live or die, Warden, but this needs to be challenged. _You_ need to be challenged. Years ago I came to you seeking death, instead I found life. Let me help you find life.”

She stood stock still feeling the weight of his words. Her heart pounded and she felt conflicted. Zevran had _thrived_ in her absence, would continue to thrive without the weight of her presence, of that, she could be certain. Pain and anger had been her constant companion for three years as she sought nothing. she didn’t know _how_ to include someone in her life.

“How could I expect you to tolerate me, Zevran?” Nyla reached for him, a gentle hand on his bicep, heartsore at seeing his eyes mist over. “I’m not the same." The truth of it stung, and she continued with a pained whisper, "I am nothing.”

There were no words to express how heavy her familiar words landed. The woman who taught him that he was not nothing, believed she was nothing; she had fallen so far.

“Warden,” he whispered, lowering his head so she wouldn’t see his silent tears fall.  

 _Tears_ crumbled what was left of her resolve. _Zevran’s tears. My, how you have grown, my sweet friend._

“I’m sorry.” Even as she stepped closer to him until her chest was against his, gentle palms running along his arms, he did not soften under her touch. What had she done to provoke such a reaction? "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this."

Nyla desired, more than anything, one brave enough to show their tears - Zevran wondered why he had to hurt to get her to show her care. Her fingers ran through the back of his hair and he grimaced, breathed through the ache in his heart; he had never felt such a touch.

“Zevran?” She spoke breathlessly, her insides trembled when he didn’t respond or return her touches. Nyla had wanted him to leave, until it seemed like he would. Biting back fear to bring life to the words on the tip of her tongue she started again. “Zevran...”

He felt too vulnerable as tears slid down his cheeks. He couldn’t look at her. His eyes would betray him, would show her the depth of his hurt. In honor of the bravery he learned from his Warden, he met her eyes anyway.

“Through you I am remembering myself again, and I am so scared,” she spoke softly, voice quivering though she tried to sound resolved.

 _“This!”_ With eyes bright and teary, he couldn’t help his excitement. “This, what you just said, is what it was like for me to be with you. I expected to die, Nyla, and welcomed it until you invited me into your circle. Now you want to go into the Deep Roads and die, let me catch you instead. I offer only what you have given out freely; let me catch you.”

It shocked her, hearing this from him when she had been so sure she had pushed him away. Apparently, his care remained, the relief was stark.

So much _feeling,_ so unlike the man she remembered from their travels during the Blight. Back then, he spoke at great length about his past. Nyla would feel devastated for him, hearing the tragedy of his stories, the pain in his voice. Zevran, however, would dismiss his pain, say it was nothing, and make light of it with jokes and flirting. It drove her crazy, leaving her with a strong urge to shake him and sob on his behalf.

This, how he spoke to her, so open and baring his pain, embracing this part of himself, was a very good, and very big change. _Oh, how you have grown_. So powerful, so brave; her heart swelled in awe of the difference between this man and the Zevran she knew years ago. He was himself, only _more._

With a nod, she rested her forehead against his shoulder, sniffling and trying to repress tears. She didn’t know exactly what she was agreeing to, all she knew in that moment was that she _trusted_ him. It felt safe to hurt and to feel fear while in his arms. When he brought his hands to rest on her lower back, she relaxed beneath his touch. His heart relaxed with her.

She didn’t know she had hurt him when she left. She didn’t know she was dropping her own lifeline. As his arms wrapped around her, she held him tighter. She felt _gratitude._

* * *

_“Pardon me, my Warden." - Art by[lord-gaybe](lord-gaybe.tumblr.com/%20%20)_


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zevran and his Warden get to _relax_ now, thank the Maker.

As Nyla adjusted her pack, she watched Zevran closely. He was braiding his hair, a comforting and familiar sight.

Despite her frustration and bitterness with Wynne, she felt grateful for her generosity. They had good food and warm baths, Wynne had even offered for them to stay another night and rest after such a tumultuous time. If anything, the Warden wanted to get moving and put last night behind her.

Patiently, Nyla stood by as he gathered the last of his things, surprised when he reached out for her hand with a warm smile as if it were the most natural thing to do. The warmth of his palm against hers was a balm on her aching heart as a vision of Alistair’s calming presence came to mind. Closing her eyes, she imagined his sweet timbre, _‘My love.’_

“Come, Warden.” Zevran spoke jovially, disrupting her reverie. “Too much thinking not enough doing.”

As her attention snapped to him, she felt tears in her eyes again and blinked them back with a nod. He made it almost impossible for her to stay numb.

His sweetness and attention was in stark contrast to the darkness that loomed over her. She was still not sure she wanted someone witnessing her pain all the time.

With steady strides they walked together. He held tight to her hand and she wasn’t sure why.

Was he feeling sorry for her? Did he want to control her? She felt the urge to pull her hand away and at the same time it was a profound comfort. If she were being honest, she wanted to understand so she could enjoy it more. He squeezed her hand gently as he spoke.

“You told me once this comforts you. This is still true, yes?” He looked down at their joined hands and then back to her eyes.

His question was startling, and she nodded shyly, relaxing, feeling the slightest bit of shame for not trusting him. That he would remember such a seemingly small thing, Nyla recalled what it was like to be with an ally. That he was paying such close attention to her, that he just simply _knew_ what she needed... moment by moment, she was feeling safer with him.

Zevran was pleased with himself when she nodded. He had taken her hand just as a way to comfort her, but the moment his fingers had wrapped around her hand he felt… _something_. Had he even held another's hand like this since he was a child? It was a strange sensation. He rather liked this, holding hands.

“Are you sure you want to leave? Where will you go?” Wynne escorted them to to door.  Zevran had insisted they give her a proper goodbye. Nyla never did like goodbyes. “You don’t _have_ to go. You could leave in the morning. You two, all that armor, It’s very hot today. Drink plenty of water... I’m sorry. I don’t mean to chatter, I just worry for you both. Despite the circumstances, I am glad I got to see you.” Her gaze rested on their linked hands and she felt more at ease letting them go, though, she still didn’t want them to.

Nyla nodded her thanks. The old woman chattered _so damned much_ , it was anxiety inducing. “I appreciate the offer, Wynne. My preference is to leave now.”

Zevran let go of Nyla’s hand. Funny, she thought, how such a little thing was so soothing.

After kissing Wynne’s cheek, Zevran reached into his pack and pulled out a rolled parchment, handing it to her, “Will you send this?”

“Of course, dear.” She beamed at him, “And it would do an old woman’s heart well to hear from you both once in awhile. Take good care of her Zevran. And yourself. It’s not going to be easy.”

Nyla grabbed his hand and tugged him away. There was so much about Wynne that she loved, and other things that drove her fucking crazy. Tuning out the last rushed words between them, she guided him away. _If you're going to talk about me like I'm not here, I'm just not going to fucking be here._

“We are not going the right way, my Warden.” He spoke playfully after a minute of hurried walking. He raised an eyebrow, nodding in the opposite direction. “And Zevran does not like to be dragged. Well, that is not entirely true, it just depends on where you are dragging him.”

“I’m sorry.” She stopped and pulled her hand away. Not ten feet into their journey and already she was treating him poorly. He wasn’t an annoyance, another person under her care demanding things. This was _Zevran,_ someone whose friendship she wanted to be worthy of. “I wasn’t thinking, I wanted to get away. I’m sorry.”

“Nyla.” He chuckled, smiling broadly. “You have sequestered yourself for a long time, yes? I have plenty of patience for you. Have some for yourself as well.”

“You’re better at being with me than I am.” She breathed deeply and closed her eyes for a few moments. When she opened them he was still there, waiting patiently. She felt delighted, relaxed, and she smiled despite herself.

“Darkspawn are better at being with you than you are, dear Warden,” he returned her smile, and she took his hand.

 

*******

 

Zevran felt nostalgic, traveling with his Warden. He was reminded of their travels during the Blight, ironically, the happiest time of his life. Friendship, purpose, travel, destruction... good stuff. As they rode, Zevran felt the familiar peace of just being with her. This time he was not behind her, but alongside her in the space Alistair once occupied. This realization made him sad, and he could only imagine what she was thinking. 

He did most of the talking, filling her in on what happened; how he followed her, saw her fall and brought her to Wynne. She was silent yet warm toward him, watching him closely with a sad smile. Zevran was patient. Let her be sad and have her silence; she would come around soon enough.

“We should find somewhere to camp for the night, my Warden.” Her only response was a faraway look, and he wasn’t sure she even heard him. He took it upon himself to find a nice clearing, and when he finally spotted one, he nodded his head. “This way. This clearing looks safe. Hidden.”

They dismounted, and he hitched both horses nearby where they could graze.

It seemed to Nyla that Zevran was comfortable with her silence, while she was not. She had so much to say, but the words wouldn’t come. So much had been bottled up for far too long. She wanted to include him as he seemed to want to be, but _how_ ? Does she simply start talking? Does she introduce it all slowly? What would be the final words to scare him off? _Shit, I'm afraid I’ll scare him away, afraid to even let him in. Shit._

With the shred of courage she could muster, she let out the truest thing she had in her.

“It still hurts, Zevran.” She sighed with the relief of finally just _saying_ something.

“Oh?” His eyes landed on her, and he gave his undivided attention; she sounded strained, but soft. He was relieved at her efforts, grateful to see her open up even just a little, and he felt his care for her keenly.

“Is it alright, Zev, that I’m still hurting? What if I told you that, however much you have helped… fuck I don’t know what I’m saying.” She ran a shaky hand through her hair, exasperated. “It’s still here.” Her fist laid against her chest, over her heart. “The weight is still here. I’m sorry.”

“You are sorry?” He put down his pack and approached her. “What for, exactly?”

“I’m sorry that I’m not better after last night. If anything, I just feel it more.” She stroked her chest briefly with her fist. “I feel this more.”

“If grief could be cured by one night with a bosom to lay on, my Warden, I would be a happier man.” She did not laugh at his jest. Her eyes cast downward, he stood closer to her. “Is this all that is on your mind?”

“No.” She was hesitant, but she felt so _invited_. “When I was alone I felt more in control, more solid. I feel lost, I can’t clear my head. I’m afraid you might find me stupid, or weak. If I don’t feel hunger and I don’t want to eat, or if I am incapable of sleep will you become frustrated with me? If I don’t speak for hours, will you get bored and walk away?”

“Ah! Such creativity! So much thinking!” There was a delighted lilt to his voice as he waved a hand as if he could brush away her fears. “I have similar thoughts. Zevran, what if she tires of you and sneaks away in the night? What if you cannot help your dear Warden and do not have what she desires?”

"Truly?” Her eyes went wide with curiosity. There was comfort in knowing he had similar fears. That afternoon flashed before her; his smile as he reached for her hand.

As their eyes met, Zevran felt as if she were seeing right through him; it was so startling he had to look away.

“Yes. As you see, there is no need to be sorry, my friend. Just know you are not alone anymore. We will set up camp now, before it is dark.”

“Yes,” she inhaled deeply to relax herself and watched him closely as he turned to walked away. “Thank you, Zevran.”

“What for?” He paused, and he could feel her eyes on his back.

“I would be dead now if it weren’t for you. It was what I wanted… but now, not as much.” Her cheeks heated, feeling exposed to an uncomfortable degree.

“Warden,” he chided playfully, looking back at her to flash a smile. _That could not have been easy to voice_ , he thought. “Help me make a fire to keep your elf from freezing.” She was being so sweet, so vulnerable with him, he imagined he was doing right by her. Her secret was dark, but there was so much beauty around it, around why she spoke it; he was grateful.

“Freezing? It’s so hot here. You’re crazy.” She chortled as she began pulling off a stifling breastplate. “Antivans.” Nyla felt something like… joy. It felt good to tell him her darkest thoughts, and he received them _so well._ He wasn’t disgusted, he wasn’t trying to make her change, he simply accepted her. It was exactly what she needed.

She watched him from the corner of her eye as he gathered wood and kindling. She moved to get their packs and bedrolls, then cleared debris for the fire pit. Seeing him was a comfort, and she felt the surmounting pressure to speak. The desire was still there. The contradictions, as always, were unsettling to her. Still stuck in a space of _come closer so I can keep you at arm’s length,_ it didn’t seem fair.

She pulled off another layer of clothing when she sat down, leaving her in light breeches and a white undershirt. Thin strapped, exposing her neck, arms and shoulders to the subtly cooling evening air. Zevran sat next to her and pulled generous rations from a bag.

“Wynne sent us with these.” He laid out bread, dried meat, and cheese on a cloth. “I like Wynne. I liked seeing her. She was very kind, yes?”

Nyla had always enjoyed hearing him speak. It delighted her to hear him end his sentences with _‘yes?’_ or _‘no?’_

“Yes, she mostly was,” Nyla whispered, “I’m not hungry.” She took a big draw from her water skin. “Even my water is hot.”

“It is like an Antivan winter.” he smiled, popping a bit of meat and bread into his mouth.

“It is not.” She chuckled, pulling her hair off of her neck with both hands to hold it on top of her head in a ponytail. She pulled a small knife from her boot.

“What are you doing?” Zevran spoke with his mouth full, grabbing her wrist before she could hack her hair off.

“It’s too hot, and I need to cut it anyway. It’s gotten way too long.”

“Not like this.” His hand gently rested on hers. “Let me help you.” She followed his lead, letting go of her hair.

Nyla sat in stunned silence as he brushed her hair with his fingers at first, and then reached into his pack for a comb. As he gently began working small tangles from her hair. Pangs of longing struck her, and her arms felt so empty.

 _Maker’s breath but you’re beautiful._ How tenderly Alistair used to touch her, brushing long locks with care, kissing her shoulders and whispering words to soothe her hurts.

“It hurts again.” Zevran spoke gently and rested his hand on her heart, which was pounding. “He used to brush your hair. Do you wish me to stop?”

“No. I’m alright. Cut it all off,” she whispered sadly, taking a shaky breath. “Please. Just cut it off.” She felt angry, sad, and Maker, she wanted to _run._ To hit something. She sat with this feeling, and let it rush through her.

“Zevran will do you one better.” He began trimming, making it only short enough to even it out.

Sitting behind her, he began to braid, starting from the top of her head. He made sure every strand was off her neck and the delicate slope of her shoulders. “Whores actually taught me this one,” he spoke playfully, and it earned him a tearful chuckle.

Kneeling in front of her, he began brushing small remnants of shorn hair from her shoulders and neck with his fingertips. She visibly relaxed and shuddered, her eyes closed. _My Warden likes gentle touches,_ he smiled. In seeing her enjoyment, he became enchanted with the task, running feather-light touches along satiny, sweat-dampened skin. She sighed deeply, swallowing richly. The task of cleaning her was forgotten as he drew fingertips down her neck, shoulder, her lean and muscular arm. He whispered her name. “Nyla.”

“Zevran.” She whispered back. Dark, glistening eyes opened as his throaty whisper pulled her from her reverie. How good it felt to be touched, how _real._ She felt the echoes of his touch on her bare skin. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He began to pull away, taking his hand from her arm. Beyond her thinking, she reached for him, the words _‘don’t go’_ on the tip of her tongue.

Something about the way she moved, graceful, inviting and with a hint of need, compelled him to move toward her and pull her into a tight embrace.

“Thank you.” She spoke again, hoping he would understand this gratitude was about more than a haircut or a hug.

“Yes.” He felt remarkably relaxed receiving her gratitude, feeling a combination of gladness and melancholy in his heart. He found his Warden. She was in his arms where he could keep her safe, and he was almost convinced she would let him. “You are welcome.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Devastated by secrets withheld, Nyla seeks comfort in the arms of Zevran.
> 
> Or, more accurately, beneath him.

***Two Nights Later - Planasene Forest***

 

She woke up in the dark, the hard ground making her shoulders and neck ache. Sitting up slowly, she heard the familiar nighttime sounds of the Free Marches.

“Zev?” she whispered from her bedroll, only a few inches from his. Zevran’s body moved with his breath, deep in sleep. She wished he would wake, but there was a comfort in seeing him so still and peaceful; curled up on his side, both arms extended in front of himself as if reaching for her. A muscular arm caught her gaze and she felt the impulse to touch him. She reached over and played idly with his hair with her fingertips. Nyla always had had a liking for his prominent ears, and indulged in tracing their shape with her eyes uninterrupted; he was a beautiful man.

A few nights of travel with him, and life seemed far less heavy and dark. Zevran was light and airy, even when she had little to say, and especially when she had much to say. He was simply being with her, holding her hand, being a friend. The peace she felt in being with him was exactly what she needed. No demands, only calm companionship.

Standing up for a stretch, her neck and shoulders strained and popped and she let out a puff of air. The moon hung high, to her annoyance, and there was much of the night left. Sleep did not come easily for her.

The fire was dying out, and Nyla took it upon herself to remedy this. _Some assassin,_ she smiled as a dried, crumbling log tumbled from her hands and clattered into the fire. _Shit!_ Hot bits of glowing ember drifted upward and she waved them away from his peacefully sleeping body. _Saved you!_ She smiled broadly with a breathy chuckle, wishing he were awake to witness her daring rescue; it would have made him laugh. How happy it made her, to hear his laugh.

Returning to her bedroll, she stretched out her legs and rested back on her elbows to watch the flames dance. Nyla tried to will him awake with her stare. She wanted to talk. She had a sad dream about Alistair, melancholic and sweet. It was part memory, part dream nonsense, but still, it had her thinking about that time. It was when their love was new, kisses were shared openly, they were affectionate. This memory stood out to her because he let her in… he wept openly, clung to her as a lifeline, letting her be a shoulder instead of dismissing what was true for him; that he was hurting deeply and just needed to be held. It was the night before they had made love for the first time. It was this night that solidified their connection which made that possible.

_“Nyla?” Alistair spoke quietly, “Are you awake?”_

_“Yes, Oren.” Embarrassed at thoughts purging themselves unwittingly, she cleared her throat and spoke louder. “Alistair. Yeah.” Of course she was awake, her eyes wide, staring at the flickering shadows in her tent. As if the dreams would let her sleep. As if haunting memories of her battered nephew weren’t enough, darkspawn screamed and clawed in her mind’s eye; of course she was awake. “Please, come in.”_

_“I’m sorry to bother you.” He seemed shaken as he sat beside her._

_“No, never.” She sat up and moved closer to him, reaching up to stroke his cheek. Eyes wide, he was hurting, and she would give anything to see him comforted. “Never a bother.”_

_“I needed someone to talk to. I feel...” he swallowed._

_“I’m listening.” He looked as lost and afraid as she felt. They watched each other silently. “Is it the dreams?” He sighed and grimaced, running his hands over his face and head roughly. She pried again, “Is it Duncan?” He remained quiet, watching her, his eyes misted over. “It’s okay, love. You can talk, or not talk.”_

_“It’s everything.” He let loose a shaky breath. “The death and killing and darkness and then... you.” His thumb and forefinger pressed into his eyes and his voice was thick from withheld tears. “We’re here in this. This is our life. Losing everything time and time again and we will just lose each other in the end!”_

Nyla sat up straight and shook her head, reeling from a sudden epiphany. _Alistair knew one of us would have to die._ At the time, she could relate with his feeling of hopelessness. _No, no, he didn’t know. He was feeling hopeless…_ She hugged her knees close. _Fuck._ She reeled at the prospect, that he withheld such a dark secret from her. He could have prepared her sooner. Maybe she could have done something. She needed to know this sooner. _Fuck. Fuck. Fuck you, Alistair._ She held her knees tighter and breathed deeply.

_“Wait, this is crazy!”_

_“Sanest thing I’ve ever done.”  His face... his voice was so calm. So sweet. So at peace. Eyes beaming with so much adoration, he turned and ran, leaving her with only a kiss._

_“Wait! Don’t! Please!”_

_...I beg you, please don’t leave me like this. Not like this. You’re all I have left-_

She shook her head again. To shake the memory of his crying out as he struck the final blow. How it clung to her, like the sound of her own shrill voice as she begged him to stop. Begged the Maker to change his mind. Tried to drown out the sounds of his anguished howls with her own.

Shaking her head again, she was beginning to sweat, her heart beating hard. _Please wake. Don’t leave me alone in this. My hands... air on the back of my neck... breathing... heat of the fire... my hands… no..._

“Nyla?” His voice startled her.

Her breathing, despite the control she thought she was exercising, had become quick.

“Zev, I had a dream. A thought. I thought… I-” Her thoughts were frantic, rapidly compounding evidence. _Alistair knew all along_ . _He didn’t seem surprised, he was so ready._ Unsure of what to share or where to begin, her body trembled, rebelling against every practice to soothe herself. Her heart was pounding. “I’m sorry.” _Help._

He felt suddenly wide awake and jumped up to kneel in front of her. She was staring at her hands, and her eyes bore the unmistakable look of terror. Taking her trembling hands in his, he held them firmly. It was clear to him something had shaken her to her very core.

“Look at me, Nyla. Breathe slower.” His own heart beat hard in his chest after such an abrupt waking, hearing her quick breathing, seeing the abject horror in her gaze.

Staring at his lips, she tried to pull together a coherent statement. “I had a thought,” she began, and grew silent, listening to the overbearing sound of her own heart.

“Look at my eyes.” Zevran spoke gently, massages working the tension from her stiffened fingers. “What was this thought?”

“No, it was a dream.” She locked eyes with him and felt more grounded, her heart slowed with her breath. “Then a memory. Then a thought.”

“Mmm?” He watched the tension melt from around her eyes. Words seemed to soothe her, so he gave her more. “First you dreamed. Then you remembered something, which gave you a thought.”

“I think Alistair knew he was going to die. Long before Riordan told us.” she breathed out with relief, feeling unburdened.

Still, she felt his hands tense on hers for just a moment. She jerked away from him abruptly and it felt like she had been dealt a dizzying blow. “Zevran, tell me what you know.”

“I know he was a man in love and he would not see you die if he could do something about it.” An unsatisfactory answer, he knew, but a good place to start.

“Don’t give me your poetic bullshit,” she growled. It was his turn to feel the same dizzying blow. “Don’t protect me, _I need_ to know.”

It was her tone, her impatience and distrust that had him so quickly grow livid; she didn’t have to _fight_ him for the truths he wanted her to have! He watched himself, as if in slow motion, stand and walk away from her. He reached into his pack fumbled for a few moments and pulled out a parchment, folded among many others. It was crumpled, worn, and he held it out to her, avoiding her eyes. _If you don’t want me to be gentle, then Zevran will not be gentle._

Still, it all seemed to happen so slowly as she reached for it with a shaky hand. She gasped, holding it between trembling fingers. Tears fell at the simple sight of the word _Zevran_ written in Alistair’s hand. Her tears melted his anger and he felt a wash of regret. It was too late to take back anything as he watched her unfold the weathered parchment.

 

_Zev,_

_If you're reading this, everything went according to plan. The blight is over, the archdemon is dead and so am I. So, yay, I suppose. I wanted to thank you for everything. You have been a good friend to me. Truly. Don’t cry, Zev. I know you’re a crier. I bet you’re crying right now. Well, it takes one to know one._

_The moment I fell for her, I knew. I just knew this was going to be my fate, and the only thing that concerns me right now is hers._

_I know I should have told her from the beginning. At first I just didn’t want to add anything more to her already heavy burden. As things progressed between us, I became afraid she wouldn’t want to get close to me and... Maker, I wouldn’t have blamed her._

_I just wanted something for myself just once before I died. Honestly, Nyla is everything to me, you already know that._

_Do you remember that time we were really drunk one time, and we had that conversation? The one that resulted in a fist fight and then more drinking? That was fun, wasn’t it? Good times, and thanks again for forgiving me._

_I have had few dear friends in my life, and you were one of them. I trust you would do right by her, always._

_-Alistair_

 

Zevran watched her. It was as if Nyla was in the path of a slow moving arrow he could not intercept when he so desperately wanted to. Watching her as it dawned on her, her fears confirmed, his hair stood on end and he felt utterly heartbroken for her. She crumpled the letter tightly in her fist, and trembled under the weight of it.

Nyla had prayed to the Maker on so many occasions to have just a little more of him, and this is what was brought to her. She felt him in this letter, it was written in his hand, in his voice. It was sweet and sad, just like him.

She imagined Alistair in her mind’s eye. Writing the letter, fretting alone when she should have been holding him. It felt as though the last bit of life was being squeezed from her as breath and tears fought for precedence. _You shut me out, lied to me. I love you so much and you didn't let me catch you._ Rage, frustration, remorse, the tragedy of it all bubbled up to the surface, spilling out of her with a resounding _“FUUUCK!”_ that echoed all around them.

 _“Braska.”_ Zevran hissed and ran a shaky hand over his head. _What have I done?_ He kicked his water skin out of the camp, the first thing that caught his eye. He looked at her, heartbroken and curling in on herself. “I’m sorry, Nyla. Truly.”

She held the note in a tight fist against her heart. _The last remnants of her lover; clinging to what is left of him no matter how it pains her. This was beautiful._ He laid down, and curled himself around her. He may not have the words, he may not be what she needs right now, but damned if he will let his Warden cry alone.

Surprising to him, she turned and wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed herself full against him. He thought, perhaps he was what she needed, and he was profoundly glad. His hands wandered her back and neck, touches he hoped were soothing.

“I am with you, Nyla.” Zevran crooned. “I have you.”

“He bore this burden alone.” she sniffled, hiccupped, resting her forehead against his. “It must have been so heavy.”

“Yes.” Zevran’s shoulders trembled, and he closed his eyes, brushing his forehead against hers affectionately. “Those were my thoughts as well. I’m sorry. I should not have told you like this.”

“I understand.” she whispered, nibbling her bottom lip as she watched his. “I’m sorry I-”

“He didn’t have to ask me-”

“It’s okay. I know you aren’t here only because he asked you to.” She whispered, interrupting him. How could she not know? _When you left, it felt to me like you were one more woman I cared for leaving me behind._ “I hear you when you speak.”

He nodded and sighed a trembling sigh. He should have known. Nyla always heard him, always seemed to remember everything he said. It made him feel special.

“Alistair knew all along. Maker... so unfair.” she chuckled, sniffling. “Do you think he is somewhere?”

“I believe he is somewhere.” He was keenly aware of the heat of her body against his, her breath against his cheek as she spoke. So intimate, the way their foreheads touched.

Her hand rested warm on the back of his neck, the other dropped Alistair’s letter to work gentle fingers through his hair. She shifted, hugging him more tightly, entwining herself with him even more, burying her face in his neck, indulging in the scent of him; it was relaxing, her heart felt more at peace.

He tried to relax into her touch, but the more he tried, the more he trembled. They had held each other, several times. Touch had become a common thing between them… but not like this. His heart thudded in his chest. _How difficult_ _it is not to kiss her sometimes_ he thought as he felt her lips brush his neck.

Nyla could feel his heart beating hard, he trembled in her arms, she wanted him to relax. A brief image flashed in her mind of her lips on his and she acted on impulse. The taste of him lingered on her lips and she withheld the urge to moan. She felt as though she should apologize, but then she would be lying. Words like ‘ _too soon’_ and ‘ _what will he think of me’_ crept into her thoughts. _But it felt just so hard not to kiss him._

Zevran marvelled at the tingling that remained in the wake of her lips. He spent a few moments deciphering what just happened. If he wasn’t mistaken, his Warden’s lips were on his neck just moments ago. Awestruck, he lifted her chin and met her eyes. She blushed beautifully, so unlike the woman he found just days ago. She looked like… _her._ Awake, alive, colorful, passionate, fierce. _Maker, sometimes it is just so hard not to kiss her._ So he did, pressing his lips to hers gently at first, their kiss deepening as she responded in equal measure.

His lips felt even better than they looked and a small sound escaped her throat. He felt too good, and she felt the ache of how badly she missed being touched, held and kissed. She felt so alive under his gaze, his touch, and now with his mouth on hers. When he pulled away he took her breath with him.

“Nyla?” He traced her arm with his fingertips _my Warden likes soft touches_ he smiled as she released a shuddering breath. Her eyes had _fire_ in them when she returned his gaze. He adored this fire. The question was on the tip of his tongue, but he didn’t know how to speak it for fear of transforming something beautiful into confusion. _Are we truly going in this direction?_

“The things you do to me...” she whispered. Her heart raced as she withdrew her leg from between his and slid it over his hip. His body was flush with her own, and she wanted to feel _more_ of him. Alistair’s letter had left her shaken, igniting the all too familiar agony of heartbreak. He, _Zevran,_ was the poultice to these wounds. _Cousland, just let yourself feel something else for a fucking change._

“Zevran.” She whispered his name, just to feel it on her tongue and lips. Her hand moved from the back of his neck, caressing his chest. She rested her hand on his heart, wanting to feel it, feel his rhythm. The flush in his cheeks and the quickness of his breath made her want _more._ Could she have that? Could she have more? “Why do you tremble so?”

The sweet cadence of her voice as she asked this question made his insides quake. With those simple words she had made him feel… _what was the word?_ He wasn’t sure, he didn’t want to think about it, he just wanted to _feel_ it. He was enchanted, wanting more of her with each passing breath. Nyla’s glorious long leg was around him, her hand on his heart, and softness and longing shone through her eyes. He kissed her again; it was too hard not to.

The satisfied hum that came from deep within her chest surprised her, and she trusted it. She pulled him closer, kisses becoming more heated. Maker, she was so _hot_ , skin tingling all over. _More._ Her hand balled up in his shirt to pull him closer. He complied, following her pull, having to abandon one hand touching her to hold himself above her. Maker’s breath, the way his heat rested along hers beneath layers of clothing. He groaned into her mouth as shivers moved along his skin.

Nyla began to burn for him fiercely as he settled above her. His hard length piqued her attention as it pressed against her. It had been so long since anyone touched her, since she even touched herself. She felt a familiar ache, and she needed _more._ Nyla imagined him naked, imagined caressing his bare skin with her hands, the taste of him, what it might be like to feel him filling her. Maker, but it had been _so long._ Surrendering to desires burning so hot they could not be ignored, she rolled her hips. Skin heating, heart racing, she felt far too close far too soon. _The things you do to me..._

“Zevran.” She pulled from their kiss with a gasp of his name, her hands gripping his biceps. She needed him. So vulnerable, so desperate, on the cusp of her first orgasm in three years.

“Tell me what you need,” he whispered, panted, tempering himself from tearing every shred of clothing from them and burying himself deep within her. She writhed against him, hips rolling, legs locked around him, guiding his body to roll with hers. She felt so good against him, he pressed hard against her and growled.  

“Like that,” she gasped, _“Zevran.Yes!”_

He looked down upon her in awe. Her head tilted back, her mouth open, panting, sweating, clinging to him, hips moving against him with wanton abandon. Zevran hissed a fervent _“yesss”_ as her fingers dug into his biceps, long legs hooked around his. Hips undulating, she trembled and let loose a guttural moan, her back arched, pressing her so tight against him.

“Oh… Maker,” she breathed out as relaxation coursed through her every limb. She just wanted to curl into him, melt with him, pepper him with kisses. _Maker, but he’s so beautiful,_ she thought, as she looked up at his burning gaze.  

He was far too lost in desire to share in this relaxation, his heart still pounding. He sighed heavily, seeing her stiff nipples beneath a thin white shirt. Her clothed heat was still pressed against him and his mind whirled with _this woman_ was beneath him. Nyla, someone he could never aspire to have, had just _come_ for him.

Zevran had never wanted this with anyone so badly, never held back, never cared about how they were feeling or how they might feel afterward. He cared about this woman, and wanted to ravage her until she begged for release. He wanted it more than he had ever desired anything in his life, and it was immobilizing.

“Zev.” She whispered, feeling naked beneath his heated stare, “You’re still trembling.”

At her words, he felt her care, and when her hand caressed his cheek he felt more grounded. She lifted her head and brought her lips to his. His calloused hand glided up her shirt, along her stomach and caressed her bare breasts for the first time. So soft. So smooth. Fingers slid over stiff nipples and he moaned his delight against her mouth. Every part of her was hypnotizing. Writhing gently against her, he felt her tugging on the hem of his shirt.

This simple tug awakened him, and he sat up on his knees, all but tearing it off in one swift movement.

A display of golden skin reignited Nyla’s desire with a quickness. She caressed his chest and stomach, the white pallor of her skin standing out against his as swirling tattoos caught her eye. He was beautiful, damp with sweat, the firelight making him virtually glow.

“Maker..." is all she could muster; so enamored, taken, and so calm. Looking up at his eyes, she caught him watching her indulgence, her hands gliding along his tawny skin. His heated gaze made her legs feel weak. Holding her eyes on his, she sat up and pulled her shirt over her head, and laid back on her elbows, displaying herself for him.

Larger than they appeared beneath any shirt, her bosom beckoned his touch. Locking eyes with her, he gently tugged on her breeches, and it made disrobing her _most erotic_ , he thought. Here she was, naked before him, and he felt more than a simple raw desire. He felt more, this _was more._ Showing her this felt so important to him, but _how_ to show her _?_ Nyla’s hands glided down his stomach and her fingers hooked in the waist of his soft leather pants. 

“I want...” she whispered, her voice trailing off as she swallowed thickly. She wanted _him,_ she wanted him to _hurry,_ and she didn't want the opportunity to begin wondering what it means. _More feeling, less thinking, Cousland._ She breathed shakily. “Zevran...”

He stood, and making a little show of it, loving the way she was drinking him in with her stare, he untied his pants. Slowly, he slid them down over his hips to reveal a throbbing, glistening erection. Zevran was pleased, beholding wide, lust-blown eyes that were just for him.

Nyla’s heart was pounding with sudden nervousness. She felt the gravity of what was happening; it felt real and, Maker… someone's name was on the tip of her tongue, it wasn't Alistair, but it felt _so good._

“Zevran.” It was her turn to tremble. Her sigh was dreamy, and she whimpered, arms reaching out to him. When he drew closer to her, kissing her firmly and guiding her to lay back, it was easy for her to surrender.  

She felt safe beneath him, her heart full to bursting. She had missed this. Feeling hands on her, naked flesh against hers, a cock pressed against her heat, so much _desire._ Tender and sad, elated, aroused, so ready for him to just _take_ her, she wrapped her body around his; legs around his waist, hands wandering his back. He growled and pulled away from her, exciting and delighting her when he grabbed her breasts roughly with both hands. She tossed her head back and heaved an ecstatic sigh as he took one light-pink nipple in his mouth, nibbling a little too hard.  

He couldn’t help himself. They were pressed against his chest, so soft with firm tips tantalizing him, begging for his ministrations. He kissed, nibbled, suckled, eliciting a gasp each time he bit her. Fingers dug into his shoulders. Kissing her neck, to her jaw, claiming her mouth with his own he was so far gone, needing her more than air.

His Warden, Nyla, was naked beneath him, her hips were rolling in anticipation of his cock, his blood was on fire and, Maker, he was going to _fuck her_.

Their kisses reflected the strong want of each other, he was so achingly hard for her, and his hand wandered eagerly between their bodies. Nyla groaned for him, rolling her hips as the tip of his cock slid between her folds. So warm, tight, moist and so ready for him, he groaned with her, reveling in this warmth as he pressed into her so slowly. He felt every bit of her against him, perfect breasts rubbing against his chest, feeling as though he were forfeiting part of his soul to her the moment he was fully seated within her.

“Zevran,” she moaned, every inch of her skin humming deliciously as he filled her. Legs wrapped tight around him, she writhed. Her stomach fluttered as he pressed deep within her, his name on her lips. Her sounds were so pleasured, needy; he pulled back, unsheathing the entire length of himself and pressing slowly back into her, reveling in every breathy whimper. “Zev…” she moaned breathlessly. “Kiss me. Fuck me,” she pleaded, and he did both eagerly.

Surrendering to the call of his body, this aching need for more, he moved, at first indulging in long, slow strokes that made her breath catch in her throat with each press into her. Oh, how he loved her sounds.

As he moved faster, harder, she kissed him with fervor, not wanting to let go to tell him ‘ _yes! that! don’t stop!’_ Maybe it was because it had been so long, or maybe he was an exceptional lover with a cock made for her, either way she could feel the rapid buildup to an orgasm that she needed, oh so desperately.

The desire to cry out to him was strong but she didn’t want to pull her mouth from his. Her hand on the back of his neck holding his lips to hers, the other gripped his bicep for dear life. Her hips stilled, letting her receive as he thrust into her, hitting all the right places.

Zevran recognized this calm before the storm, and he kept his pace, feeling her body tensing and twitching, her hips subtly moving as she chased completion. He wanted her screaming, moaning, crying out his name again and again.

“My sweet Nyla…” he whispered, resting his forehead on hers. He stayed with her, intimately understanding this desperate, vulnerable place. Oh, he would not let her down. _Ever._ He spoke words to sooth, encourage, further ignite her passion as he thrusted eagerly. “You feel so good, I want to feel you come around me.” he held her heated gaze with his. “Come for me, my Warden. Let me feel you tremble.”

 _“Fuck…”_ Nyla’s back arched, her head tossed back. Her eyes were half-closed, glistening and her breath rushed in desperate panting. They were watching each other as she became impossibly tight around him. He pressed deep inside her, watching her come for him again and he _growled._

She screamed for him. Over and over, _Zevran!_ she cried out, breathy and high pitched, it sent chills along his skin, making his ears tingle. Maker, he wanted to _move_ again, to show her how much he loves it when she calls out his name. Her cries faded to moans as she whispered words he could barely hear.

The rush of her orgasm sent her mind and heart sailing; her loudest experience, trust for the man inside her. She could feel Zevran being fully with her, and Maker, she _needed_ him, the words tumbling from her in frenetic whispers. “ _My sweet.... Beautiful… so good…”_

He followed her cues, letting her speak sweet words he could barely hear, he simply wanted to give her _everything._ This thought jarred him and he trembled above her, droplets of sweat falling on her porcelain skin.

Zevran gave her a generous roll of his hips, he sighed, groaned, loving every bit of friction. The desire for completion was strong. He didn’t want this to end, he wanted _more_. To feel her skin, taste her sweat, hear her cries and feel her heart pounding with his.

His desire was unyielding and he feared losing his control which seemed to be hanging on by a single thread. Her voice carried to him, soft and crooning, catching his attention as her hand caressed his cheek, brushing a thumb along his jaw.

“You’re still trembling.” This contact, her words felt good, he felt closer to her. A droplet of sweat from his forehead landed on hers and she was unfazed. “Let me ride you.”

Her words were like the gentle brush of a lover’s touch along the backs of his shoulders and he shuddered, closing his eyes, taking a moment to rest his forehead against hers. He rolled his hips again with a moan, and indulged in the soft sound of their bodies meeting. Overwhelmed by the thoughts of how good it would feel to have her above him, how beautiful and glorious she would look, he kissed her fully. His arm wrapped around the exaggerated curve of her lower back, the other around her shoulders. He lifted her easily, arms wrapped around his neck and she returned his kisses with equal fervor. Her mouth and tongue felt and tasted so perfect; he did not know kisses could be this perfect. Holding her tight against him, to stay inside her, Maker, he never wanted to be anywhere else. As he laid back, her weight bared down on him, pressing him more deeply into her and he closed his eyes, grunted, hissed, grabbed her thighs, forcing her to be still.

“You’re holding back.” She whispered. Not a complaint, an observation. Her chest rested against his and she kissed along his jaw and neck.

He nodded, opening lust-blown, apprehensive eyes to take her in as she sat up. Her hands pressed against his chest to hold herself up. She was sweating, flushed, panting, bosom heaved and wavered above him looking most glorious; this moment settled in his mind as the most erotic moment in his life.

“Talk to me.” Her eyes, though clouded with lust, appeared serious, grounded.

“I have never…” he didn’t know how to put it. _Had so little control? Never felt… THIS?_ He chanced to put it in simple words, “I could never release inside someone before.”

“Before now?” She asserted, and he relaxed beneath her, his hips and thighs less tense.

He nodded, writhing his hips beneath her, pressing into her even more deeply. _Yes,_ and he wanted to, but he needed it to _mean_ something.

“Mmm...” her head fell back and her hand reached up to caress her breast, another hand on his stomach. It was her turn to sooth, encourage, and further ignite passion, and she was ready. “I want to feel you come for me, Zevran,” she spoke softly, her voice laced with desire. “Come for your Warden.”

 _“Maker.”_ He let his head fall back. Nyla was watching him again. _My Warden likes to watch_ . His hands gripped tight to her thighs. He began a slow steady pace, long strokes, finding enjoyment in the way they indulged in the sight of each other. Feeling relaxed, connected, vulnerable beneath her. She knew his secret and had some understanding of what he was surrendering, the part of himself he was offering her. He felt… _safe?_

She gasped at the depths he was touching, rolling her hips to meet his, both palms resting on his chest as she leaned forward. She followed his rhythm, let him guide her. His lips parted and brow furrowed. Every moan, groan and whimper from him nudged her a little more toward a third orgasm; something she wasn’t sure she could survive.

“Maker, Zev.” she panted as he continued to thrust and writhe beneath her. “You feel so good. So beautiful. Oh _fuck._ ”

Something about the way she twitched around him, growing tighter, massaging his cock from tip to base, he felt himself on the brink again. The urge to hold back was so habitual, so strong, he whimpered curses, let go of her thighs to wrap his arms around her.

He needed to pull her close. Closer to his heart where he could feel her warmth, keep her safe and protect her forever. He held her so tightly, his lifeline as he felt the inevitable approaching.

Breath staggered, his hips snapped upward to meet her, pounding until she groaned, squealed his name and pressed her face against his neck.

 _So tight, silky soft and wet, so perfect._ With a quick gasp of air and a few held breaths, he bit down on the soft flesh of her shoulder; they were coming _together_. She moaned so loud for him, with him; an almost foreign sound pulling from deep within his chest. Every muscle in his body contracted, his hips stuttering and undulating uncontrolled. He clung to her through waves of pleasure wrought from him, leaving him trembling and panting her name. It seemed forever until he was still again, his arms still tight around her.

Hot and drenched in sweat, they clung to each other, panting, whimpering, kissing until their hearts slowed and he went soft inside her. They let out a mutual groan, making a feeble attempt to pry themselves from each other's needy grasp. Instead, they clung tight to each other as Zevran rolled them to lay on their sides, facing each other where they openly shared more tender kisses. Muscles sore, appetite temporarily sated, Nyla surrendered to much needed sleep, having virtually no choice on the matter.

Zevran, hearing her breath even out, pulled a cover over them. There were still several hours left until daylight, the fire needed more wood, but if staying right here beside her and holding her tight is what brought her sleep, he would be still.

He laid awake listening to the sweet, slow drawl of her breath. Zevran wished he could somehow share what she had done to him, was continually doing to him. Being with her felt remarkably special, and it was not lost on him that she let him _inside_ of her. He wanted so much with her, for her. Sharing his body with her seemed not enough. He had _feelings..._ so many feelings. He didn’t know what to do with them, how to show her them in a way that could be received. And at the same time, he was drowning in so much desire. _Sweet, beautiful woman,_ he thought as he drifted to sleep with his arms tight around her.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after.  
> Take a day off, you two. Go skinny dipping or something.

Nyla opened her eyes with a waking sigh, and it took a few sleepy moments to get her bearings. The smell of food wafted to her and she sat up, clutching the blanket to her chest. She scanned her surroundings. The sun, hidden behind a canopy of trees, left her with the assessment that it was not quite noon. She couldn’t remember the last time she slept so deeply.

Zevran, dressed in his light shirt and leather breeches, poked the fire with a stick. He seemed so beautiful to her; concentrating, relaxed, peaceful. For a few moments, their eyes locked and her stomach fluttered. _The way he’s looking at me right now-_

“How are you, Nyla?” There was a softness to him, his smile entrancing, and his eyes smiled with joy and relaxation; never had she seen him this way. _Beautiful._ He stopped poking at the fire and dusted off his hands.

“I feel… rested.” She spoke sleepily, moving tickling strands of her hair away from her cheeks. Feeling awkward and vulnerable she wrapped the blanket tight around her, looking for her clothes. She was sore _._ Hips, thighs, the muscles of her arms so overworked, as well as _other_ parts of her… _sweet Maker and Andraste._ Startled by the memory of welcoming this man into her body, flesh meeting flesh, sweating, writhing, crying out his name, how he called out her name… _sweet Maker._

She frantically searched for the flaws in their choice, finding none, only sweet satisfaction. He approached her and left a soft kiss on her lips. It was too much like a dream she thought she couldn’t have.

“Drink. It was a very warm night last night.” He spoke playfully, handing her a water skin. _She looks as fresh and beautiful as the dawn,_ he thought, amused by the poetry coming to mind as he looked at her. She opened the skin, tipped it back and braced herself for unpleasantly hot water, surprised to find it chilled, refreshing. She drank the entirety of it.

“The water is cool.” She felt so awake, refreshed. She peered around, “My clothes?”

“There is fresh water nearby. Your clothes, I washed all of them. I have been awake for hours, you see,” he bit his lip and sighed. “Zevran did not think this through.” With a smile, he gestured ‘ _one moment!’_ and retrieved one of his own shirts from his pack.

She snatched it away with a small smile, cheeks pinked with shyness, and slid it over her head. She felt more relaxed and, _‘oh it smells like him,’_ she inhaled deeply.

“Stay.” He pointed at her, running to the fire. He began scooping eggs off of a hot rock onto a small wooden plate. “I found eggs, berries, this land is very generous.”

He handed her the dish, eggs, fruit, bread, a bit of meat and cheese, garnished with a sprig of green and a small flower. Smiling as she took it from him, this was his way, as she remembered it. Always happy to cook, always presenting something as beautifully as he could make it. And it was always palatable at the very least.

“Will you eat with me?” Not hungry but not wanting to turn away such a gift, she felt a little overwhelmed and shy. _What’s the matter, Cousland? You sure weren’t shy last night._ Her cheeks heated with the thought.

“I only own one plate, my Warden. You have none. I shall eat after.”

She beckoned him with a gesture. “Eat this with me. I know I used to eat enough for three, but my Grey Warden appetite is not what it used to be.”

“As my Warden wishes.” He was grateful she wanted something, and asked him for it.

She picked up some egg, cheese and meat with a bit of bread and offered it to him. He pushed this hand gently away, all the way to her mouth. She ate, smiling with a quivering lower lip and watery eyes. She couldn’t find suitable words to express her gratitude, and she couldn't imagine herself being worthy of such sweetness and doting. The food was delicious, and stoked her appetite.

 _So silent._ Not that he minded, after all, it was a beautiful silent moment. He reached out a hand and rested it on her knee, stroked her with his thumb as she fed them. Seeing those breasts beneath _his_ shirt, which pleased him more than he cared to admit, he cleared his throat and commanded his eyes to stay on her face. Not her breasts, or her thighs, or that exposed shoulder. _But last night was..._

“Do you regret it?” He asked gently, holding the possibility of hearing her say yes. He felt calm. He hadn’t expected things to go in that direction, especially as quickly as they did. It wouldn’t have surprised him at all if it scared her.

“No, Zev, of course not.” The question was jarring and her heart felt like it might melt away. She felt so soft for him, met his eyes and held his attention. “It was beautiful… abrupt, and I don’t know what we’re doing. I thought perhaps... maybe you have some thoughts?” Asking felt a little scary, as she didn’t know what she would do with any answer. “I tend to overthink things and-”

“We don’t need to have an answer so soon.” He spoke after a few moments of thoughtful silence, “Let us keep enjoying each other, yes?”

With a sly smile, she fed him the last berry, her index finger tenderly brushing his lower lip as she pulled her hand away. He treasured this gesture with a soft sigh, took the empty plate from her and set it aside.

“Yes. Perfect.” She whispered, sighed, feeling relieved and unburdened. Her brow furrowed as it dawned on her how it wasn’t simple at all. Suddenly, Nyla wanted very much to talk about what they are doing. “Wait, you said last night, when you... you said you had never-”

Chuckling at her as she floundered, seeking words, he scrubbed his face, cringing at the memory. So vulnerable, needy and at her mercy, not as in control as he typically was in sexual encounters.

“Ah! You’re still overthinking. Now… the meaning of that... eludes me.” He struggled. It was still a jumble of confusion. As she slept, it was on the forefront of his mind, simultaneously troubling and pleasing. “If I may be completely honest with you, there are mysteries within myself that occur, and unfold as I am with you. This has always been the case, if memory serves.”

“Really?” Her eyes went wide, curiosity piqued. _He learns about himself when he is with me and I… want that…_ “I like that, Zevran,” she spoke softly, awestruck, feeling closer to him. She _loved_ when he told her his secrets. Her heart could burst. Having a desire to pry more from him, she dismissed it in service of his comfort. He seemed edgy, on high-alert, perhaps even afraid. Nyla let it go, smiled for him, stroked his cheek with her fingertips. “Keep me updated then, will you? If this mystery unfolds.”

“As you wish.” He withheld a pleased chuckle. “Right now, we bathe.” He stood, whisked her up in his arms and began walking.

“I can walk.” Despite her weak protestation, she rested a cheek on his shoulder and relaxed, feeling a twinge of joy at this touch.

“Not without shoes.”

“You're not wearing shoes either.” she crooned, with a kiss on his jaw; it felt so easy. _So sweet._ How she missed sweetness.

“Mmhmm.” He nuzzled his cheek against the top of her head, tingling warmth spreading through his chest. “Elves are not supposed to, so I have heard.”

“Zev, you haven’t asked where we are going, or what we are up to.” Her arm wrapped around his neck and her fingers carded through his hair.

“Mmm. This is true, but regardless of where you are going, I follow.” His arms stiffened beneath her, as if trying to hold her closer.

“I’m glad, but you may not actually like where we’re going.”

“Perhaps. But why feel troubled with you by my side? There is no need to talk about this now. Today is for resting. Swimming instead?” He stopped walking and let her down gently, her feet landing on soft earth.

“Okay, but where do you think I’m taking us?” Nyla felt stifled by not talking about it, and didn’t understand why he wouldn’t want to.

“East, dear Warden.” Reaching behind her, he untied her braid and ran his fingers through, loosening it. “And I trust you. Trust me, _relax,_ just for today. _”_

Reveling in the sensation of his fingers gently scrubbing her scalp, her eyes closed. “Well, you're not wrong.” She sighed, opening her eyes to look out at the expanse of water. “Ah. Shit.” She looked down at her feet. Already she felt the water encompassing her, covering her face and invading her mouth and nose, the blur and blindness of being submerged with _no way know what’s up or down-_ “Shit.”

“The Hero of Ferelden is still afraid of water.” He chuckled at her and pulled off his shirt.

“Don’t…” She sighed and shook her head with a chuckle. “Don’t pick on me and strip at the same time.”

“No?” Zevran pulled off his pants unceremoniously. “You will do something about it? Chase me perhaps?” He walked into the water and submerged himself completely.

“I might.” She pouted, moved to take off Zevran’s shirt and suddenly felt nervous, having no smalls on beneath. Placing a foot in the water, wishing it wouldn’t ripple so, she became frustrated, flustered. _Shit. You don’t know what’s in there, how deep it is. Zev is swimming in it just fine. Be like Zev. Fuck._ Her frustration was building. _Cousland, get in that water and go after the naked man._ That helped her gain a little momentum. “I see fish!” She pulled her foot back out, hopping around for a moment to shake off a sudden onset of jitters.

“I will cook one for you, yes?” He emerged from the water pushing wet hair from his face with a sweep of his hands. Waist deep water flaunted the muscular V of his hips and a subtle trail of blond hair; she felt _teased._ When she stood there stock still and staring, he prodded her again with a knowing smirk. “Warden, how do you survive this wayfaring lifestyle if you cannot bathe in a lake?”

“I bathe in lakes, I just don’t usually have handsome elves tracking my every move.” She crossed her arms. “You’re making me nervous. I take it slow. Concentrate on something that isn’t a mysterious body of water filled with any number of atrocious things and... random deep spots to slip into.”

“You think I’m handsome.” He rested his hands on his hips.

“Clearly. And you know you are. With those ears.” Blushing, she averted her eyes as he stepped out of the water with agility and grace that only stood out to her more at beholding his nudity. Water dripped from him, making her feel thirsty, and… grabby. She cleared her throat nervously. “And now you’re naked,” she licked her bottom lip, “and... wet.”

“I do not understand. You speak as if complaining, but you are drooling a little.” With a smile, he reached down and ran fingers gently up her thighs, hips, her waist, pulling the shirt up and over her head, leaving her naked before him. She inched toward him.

“I know what you’re trying to do.” Heat flooded her cheeks and she smiled shyly, nibbling her lip.

“What am I doing, then?” he smiled, his hands wandering her shoulders and back.

“Well, either trying to distract me and help me get in the water,” she stepped closer to him, her arms draping over his shoulders. “or seduce me.”

“Multitasking.” Walking backward, he guided her into the water with him one step at a time. “Maker’s breath, how many times did I bite you last night?” Marvelling at the many bite marks on her shoulders and neck, he felt a little proud of himself. Zevran had marked her. With his mouth. He counted aloud slowly, “One… two...” tilting her chin, “three…” gentle fingers touching an elegant throat, “four… five… I am terrible.”

“They don’t hurt.” She shrugged, feeling cool water reach her thighs. This was a very elegant and effective distraction, she had to admit. “I don’t mind it.”

“You don’t mind it, or you _enjoy_ it?” he asked playfully. He stopped walking when the water barely covered her breasts. Cupping the water with hands, he doused each of her shoulders, massaging them. Skilled fingers rubbed the base of her skull making her sigh and stretch her neck. The water felt perfect, as did his touch. She sighed in contentment, noting a creeping anxiety of trying to accept, and relax under the ministrations which seemed too good for her.

“I think…” she finally spoke after deliberating, “I like it, and I consider it an acceptable expression of desire while we are-” he interrupted her with a kiss. This fulfilled the curiosity he did not know he had; she was accepting him as her lover. Which meant they would do it again, so why not get started?

Overjoyed that they were not limited to one overwhelmingly passionate night, he suddenly felt incredibly relaxed with her. His cock responded almost as loudly as his heart. Immediately so hard for her, he was going to do _so_ many things to her. With his hands, his mouth, he wanted to take her in every position, bend her over every surface, indulge in every part of her.

“Ah!” she held onto him tightly as he bit her neck, and she laughed. “Not here, Zev.”

“And why not?” He asked playfully, kissing her throat, resuming with more vigor as she wrapped her legs around him. It still felt so unreal, _she_ was in his arms, laughing, receiving his kisses, the folds of her sex brushing the tip of his cock.

He could see her underlying sadness, Nyla was hurting most of the time, but he _knew_ he could help her find happiness again; this just made him want her even more.

“We’re in the- Maker’s breath,” she whimpered, his tongue brushing a sensitive place on her neck near the hollow of her throat, “We’re in the water. Our camp is vulnerable.”

“Valid concerns.” He lifted his head breathlessly to nibble her jaw. “I promise to last only as long as you do, and you will find the buoyancy of sex in the water quite fun, if you give it a-”

She cut him off with a kiss, pulling him closer, pressing her breasts against his chest, knowing it was something he greatly enjoyed. He hummed his appreciation, feeling her hips writhe against him. He loved it when his Warden spoke with her hips, and he pressed her slowly onto his length; she was so wet for him, and he moaned.

“ _Maker..._ you’re... so hard.” she panted, enjoying this aspect of his virility. So hard, ready, movements strong and forceful and he hit all the right places. She could feel him wanting her, and every part of him felt as though it was made just for her; soft heart, firm, sculpted body, smooth skin, perfect lips and those _ears_ . She could absolutely _purr,_ imagining the entirety of him.

Hands firmly squeezing the soft flesh of her ass, he bounced her rhythmically up and down the length of him. Through heavily lidded eyes and gritted teeth he watched her; her head tilted back, lips parted, brow furrowed, whimpering at every down-stroke as she is wont to do in the throes of pleasure.

“Zev.” She whispered, meeting his eyes. He loved his name on her lips, sounding through her breath; such a perfect sound. She peppered kisses on his neck, his jaw, nipping his lips. “Let’s play a game, Zev." She kissed him softly, nipping his lower lip. “You receive. Let me give to you.”

Zevran reveled in the way it felt for her to speak those words; inclusive and inviting. He let out a breathy moan against her mouth. She wanted to give to him? That's not how it works. Zevran takes pleasure, he gives pleasure; he does not _receive._

He answered her with a kiss, she wrapped her legs strategically around the backs of his knees and rolled her hips in the most glorious way. Full, slow strokes which tickled and teased him, made him shudder, her name rolling off his tongue. He felt that urge again, to sink his teeth into her soft flesh, but the way she held him and moved, he could only stand there, moaning with his lips on hers, hands stroking and grasping wherever they wandered. 

He pulled her closer to himself, to feel her breasts pressed against him. Hands wandered over her shoulders, down her arms, groping her as if seeking something to hold onto. Nyla loved every held breath, every moan and whimper, and she wanted to hear every sound he could make.

“What do you like?” She whispered. Trailing wet kisses in a line from the corner of his mouth to his strong jaw to perfect ears, she nibbled gently. She quivered in response to the deep moan it coaxed from him.“You liked that.” She purred, nibbling his ear a little harder, a little farther up; she had discovered his weakness. “Beautiful…” Nyla purred as he moaned and his body subtly stiffened.

 _“Nyla…” H_ e wanted to tell her to stop before it’s too late, but his breathy growl only encouraged her. His lusty groans made her skin tingle all over and her breath catch in her throat. Zevran was at her mercy, her pace, each slow stroke coaxing him toward completion and it was beautifully torturous. Feeling her gripping, squeezing his cock, drawing his orgasm from him, he moaned so loud for her.

 _“Ahhh… yes.”_ Her breathy words crooned as she bobbed gently in the water, feeling him grow harder, expand and pulse inside of her.

Shuddering, holding her tightly through the tumult, he saw _stars_ behind his eyelids _._ His heart was full to bursting and he felt so tired, ready to drift off to sleep in her arms. He heard her through the ringing of his ears, sweet sounds making him chuckle and smile with bliss.

“You’re right, Zevran. Lake sex is beautiful, buoyant, and your perfect ears are an erogenous zone.” Her internal world was brimming with unadulterated excitement at the thought of perfect ears between her teeth, under the soft caress of her tongue, a gentle sweep of her fingertips.

“Mmm. My perfect ears are ringing.” He smiled, inhaling sharply at the sensitivity of his softening length slipping out of her, the water cool in contrast to her warmth. When he opened his eyes, feeling so relaxed, the color in the world seemed very bright to him. Including _her._ Smiling, with flushed cheeks, a heaving bosom and looking exceptionally pleased. “You next,” he purred playfully.

“Not yet.” She smiled, loving the sensations of lust pulsing through her body. She wanted to feel it longer; heat between her thighs, hands longing to touch, mouth craving the taste of him.

Using him as her anchor, she wrapped her legs around his waist. She let her arms go free and stretched, slowly falling backward into the water. For the first time in so long she felt completely unburdened. Her mind felt still, her heart full, and nothing mattered aside from this moment.

The water felt perfect on her skin, she pushed thoughts of fish, bugs and slimy plants out of her mind with such ease. Floating, her eyes taking in birds flitting among emerald-green foliage against a blue sky, she listened to underwater sounds; peaceful, pulsing. Surrounded by life and beauty, her body still hummed with desire, her heart beating strong, breath becoming even and relaxed. Zevran’s hands caressed her legs, her stomach, and rested on the small of her back helping her float effortlessly. His touch felt so comforting, letting her know he was there. _So alive. So safe_ . The corners of her mouth set into a small, contented smile, eyes bright. _Such beauty._

_If my life could just feel like this moment forever-_

And in a flash of one horrific vision, it was gone, and Nyla was left stunned and shaken.

“Nyla?” she heard his voice carry through the din of watery sounds. He helped her up, her face once so bright and alive had fallen, her affect gone flat. Striking, how it stood out to him as she shifted back into darkness, to feel his own heart crying out to her so loudly. He pulled her protectively against his chest, missing her already. Holding her head, he pressed her face into his neck. “Nyla, what happened?”

“I’m okay.” She clung to him, placing her feet on the lake floor, closing her eyes to see the faces of everyone she loved and lost. _‘Make him wrong, Pup. See that justice is done.’_ Howe was long gone, but justice didn’t make the memories go away. “I’m okay.”

_Maker, help me, I’m going to lose it all again. I'm just going to lose him._

Nothing about her spoke that she was okay, except her words; of course he did not believe her. The strain in her voice, the tremble of her hands as she clung to him. As long as she allowed him to hold her, he would never feel helpless.

 _The water gently trickling down my arms, the beat of my heart. The… ground…_ She lifted her head and looked out on the lake, her heart sinking hard and fast, making her feel so lost. Empty. _I can’t do this._

It seemed so easy, in theory. Let go of Zevran, who was rapidly becoming the very center of her world, and walk away. Toward the center of the lake. She looked at him and her heart ached fiercely. He was watching her closely, eyes soft and compassionate. His gentle hand cradled her jaw, Nyla felt utterly transparent and she was not afraid to let him see her.

“I am with you,” he whispered, holding her gaze. “I have you.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You’re not broken, Nyla. You’re just hurt. Zevran has you.
> 
> I don't know how to tastefully say there is smut without ruining my serious summary.

Nyla was feeling so comfortable and warm after bathing; the clean smell of soap and Zevran’s shirt on her, hair brushed and braided by his skilled fingers. The sun was setting, and she listened, watched everything with a sense of melancholic peace. Fish roasted on a spit, and Zevran took care of everything around her. She tried to help, but he reminded her that today was for relaxing, and to wait for her meal. Her response was to sob uncontrollably for an hour. _Nice, Cousland. We’ll just go to pieces whenever you fucking want._

Stunned by the abrupt wave of dread that consumed her in the lake mere hours ago, she was still feeling shaken. The message had never come through so clearly and strong, _I just don’t want to be alive anymore. I can't do this._ Confusing; it wasn’t really about anything specific. Not about her family, Alistair, or any of the numerous losses, intense battles, the deaths of thousands or the near total destruction of her homeland... no, it wasn’t truly about any one of the horrifying things she had seen. She felt _done._ Tired. So old.

She wasn’t in touch with the emptiness anymore, especially after purging about a year’s worth of tears. Wailing, fists curled into her own hair as Zevran held her tightly. _‘I have you, Nyla.'_ He whispered comforting words that made the ache bigger, yet somehow, easier to digest. _I'm so sorry… why is this happening to me? I don’t want to lose you. I will, but I can’t. What am I even doing here? I just don’t want to be alive anymore. I'm sorry. I’m so sorry._

Zevran, meanwhile, had begun the task of moving their horses to a greener area before nightfall. He hoped he was doing right by Nyla. Only wanting relaxation for her, the opposite happened; she broke down completely. Tears and mournful apologies flowed from her. _‘I’m sorry I’m sorry I'm sorry…’_ He didn't get a sense of her apologies being directed at him, it seemed like something she needed to let out and let go of. Of what, he could only guess, and she had been too hysterical to talk about it. All he knew to do was hold her, so Nyla knew he had her. But he wanted to do more. _Ached_ to do more.

He kept an eye and ear open for his Warden. One moment she was laughing, smiling at the sky and then very suddenly she looked so lost, so far away. Seeing her looking out at the lake left him unsettled. He could almost hear the gears turning in her troubled mind, he knew what it was like to want to die. And the way she shuddered in his arms, writhed, clung to him; he had never felt another’s pain in his own heart so keenly. Was he helping? Did he help? She was suicidal when he found her, why was he so surprised it would linger? Drawing from his own experience, he understood she needed him right now more than ever. He needed to reach her before she did something drastic like he did; take on a mission he knew to be suicide.

Years ago when she didn’t kill him, in fact she _welcomed_ him, he felt a renewed desire to live. But what was it though, that made life so appealing at that point? _A heaving bosom and dark eyes, for one…_ that wasn’t it, there are beautiful women everywhere. It wasn’t the ragtag bunch she dragged along either, though it helped. The prospect of doing something unquestionably good for a change intrigued him. Or perhaps it was all of those things? She needs a purpose, perhaps? Can he give her purpose?

Zevran stood still for a few moments. Reins in his hand, lost in thought, he watched her, so still as she stared solemnly into the fire. His heart burned to have her smiling and laughing again. Maker’s breath, he _missed_ her. True, she will never be the same as she was before the Blight ended, but _she_ is still there, and still perfect.

And now they were lovers. It somehow made him care about her even more. A _lot_ more _._ He shivered, shook his head and tethered Nyla’s horse to a strong branch. _Is this feeling going to get bigger? How can it possibly get bigger? Big feelings like these, are they love? What does that even mean? If love isn’t the word for this, then what is the word? Is it all just… words?_ He shook his head again, frustration bubbling under the surface in trying to understand the differences between what he was taught and what he felt.

As he turned back toward camp, Nyla was walking away, a gasp of air and a swipe at her cheek showed him she was crying again. He felt relieved; tears are better, healthier than being cold and hardened, shutting everyone out. He liked crying Nyla much more than cold Nyla. Crying Nyla was easier to understand, she just needed to be held.

Turning the fish, he grabbed his bottle of brandy and followed her. He didn’t know if she wanted to be alone, or wanted company, or to toss herself into the lake. He would just follow and assess.

Standing on the edge of a lake watching the sunset colors and sobbing like a child, Nyla wasn’t sure what was coming over her. She always had so much control over her emotions, could turn them off at will. This enabled her to drag her feet to Ostagar for the Joining to become a Grey Warden, lead her company during the Blight, and do her duty as Warden Commander. _I shouldn’t have even survived any of these things,_ she lamented the agony of her continued survival.

She missed everyone deeply, with no chance of seeing them again. Except Fergus. What she wouldn’t give to see Fergus in that moment. To apologize for disappearing, for not being there for him when he lost as much, if not more, than she did. _Little Oren…_ she shook her head; to shake away the last gruesome memory of the sweet boy haunting her mind’s eye.

And of course, Alistair. Since his death, Nyla still had no fucking idea what to do with herself. And to see him die just like everyone else, so violently, and so completely, soul and all… she hugged herself and sunk to her knees, shoulders shaking.

Years of unspent tears is all she saw on her horizon; as a great elf once said, life is a fickle whore. At just the thought of Zevran, she missed him. Likely he was wondering where she had gone, but he was probably tired of her tears, her blubbering and back and forth between hot and cold. She can’t put him through this. Through _her_. It simply wasn’t fair.

“Nyla?” His gentle voice brought her pause and she gasped, looking up at him from behind her palms. “I did not like to see you cry alone... do you wish to be alone?”

“I imagine you’re tired of my shit by now.” She tried smiling through the tears and felt like collapsing in on herself. She couldn't fake a smile for him, it didn’t feel right.

“No, Nyla.” He sighed noisily and sat by her, his relaxed mannerism contagious. Soft, smiling eyes soothed her and wisps of golden hair against his cheek beckoned her touch. From this angle, she could see his elegant elf ears, so different from her own and it clicked for her; this man, this whole other person, is beautiful, and exactly what she needs right now.

The way he smiled and shook his head, her chest quivered and she received, quite fully, Zevran had no qualms with her shit at all.

“I don’t deserve you,” she whispered, wiping her cheeks with the hem of his shirt, very present to that she was clothed in _only_ his shirt. Again.

“Bullshit.” He enunciated with the clunk of placing a glass bottle down in the grass. “The noble-born Hero of Ferelden tells the whore-raised assassin that she is not worthy of his affections. This does not strike you as bullshit?”

She snorted, laughed hard, tossing her head back and leaning back to sit on her backside. He uncorked the bottle and took a long draw.

“Your laugh brings me joy, you know. Especially the snorty parts.” He leaned over and kissed her shoulder, delighted to see her smile and blush at his gesture. “Tell me, what do you deserve, then?”

“I don’t know.” She sighed, relaxing at the closeness of his face to hers. “Not someone so good as you.”

“Stop saying that. That is bullshit.” His brow furrowed, and he wanted to hold her until she was convinced. It befuddled, frustrated, confused the fuck out of him somehow. The confusion was slippery and annoying, he couldn’t quite decipher it. _If I am too good, then what is the perfect amount of good? Why would she want less good?  
_

“You’re taking it too literally.” She chuckled and smiled, but sadness showed in her gaze. “It was a kind of compliment.”

“It’s not flattering, it’s not funny.” He spoke softly, sadly, and stroked her braided hair; it suited her. She was beautiful. “You deserve good things. You are too hard on yourself.” He handed the bottle to her. “Drink this, it will help you relax.”

“Do you want to drink because you need to relax?” She tipped the bottle back; smooth heat on her tongue, warmth filling her chest.

“Yes.” He sighed. Her expectant look encouraged him to continue as she took a second sip and nodded. “The whore-raised assassin feels affection for the noble-born Hero of Ferelden. Zevran is surprised to find his affections are returned.”

“And you need to relax from this?” She sniffled deeply to clear her nose, dried her eyes with his shirt and turned to face him. There was an innocence to his confusion. So endearing and so uniquely Zevran, and it made sense, given what she knew about him. She smirked and leaned in closer to him, “I want to hear the rest of this story.”

“She is beautiful, with a refined sense of humor if not a little vague sometimes, fiercely intelligent, strong enough to lead with her heart. Also, the sanest person I know.” He took another drink. She was so near he could detect the subtle scent of her, like raspberry leaves and pepper, and he was already imagining her naked. He licked his lips at beholding her exposed shoulder, the swell of her breasts... _Eyes on Warden's face, Zevran. Talk now, ravish later._

“Oh, _really.”_ She chuckled happily. “All of those things are completely true but… sane, you say?” She took another swig and cleared her tickling throat. He had stopped telling the story she probed for. Those were the qualities he enjoyed in her, not his feelings for her. Perhaps he didn't know the difference? Regardless, she was genuinely interested in hearing more about this so-called _sanity._

“I said the sanest person I know. Therein lies a distinction.” He followed up a deep draw of brandy with a satisfied sigh.

“Elaborate for me, please. Even  _I_ can tell I had completely lost it years ago.” _Wow my jokes are a bit vague._

“Think, for a moment, about the beautiful Nyla Cousland’s history. Noble-born, as I said, and living her life safe with a loving family, raised to be Teyrna of Highever.”

“I was a rich brat,” she sighed. “You would have hated me.”

“Be hard on yourself later, Nyla. Zevran is telling a story,” he chuckled and dismissed her comment with a wave of his hand. “Now, to be blunt, within one year she had lost everything several times over. Home, loving family, future as Teyrna of Highever, gone. Then mere days later, she becomes a Warden. All I know about this, it had been a mysterious and terrifying feat which involved darkspawn taints and such. Stop giggling I’m being serious. Thank you. This is twice now she evaded death. A single day after becoming a Grey Warden she defies death again at Ostagar, becoming one of the last of her kind. Bravely, she continues her duty as Warden. Even more bravely, she falls in love. Braver still, she survives the Archdemon and the loss of her partner, and survived the heartbreak. After that.. what _have_ you been doing the past three years?”

“My duty. Grey Warden shit,” she shrugged, taking another drink. “What about you?”

“Assassin shit,” he shrugged. "Killing Crows, chasing you. I find working independently is quite profitable."

“Killing Crows? And you were chasing me?” She needed to hear both of those stories immediately. She was reeling with excitement. “Zev, wait, wait... wait." She paused, her finger in mid-air. "Killing Crows. And chasing me. How-”

“I was multitasking.” He smiled and stretched out his legs. “I am telling a different story right now, remember? About my sane Warden.”

“Go on! Then tell me the thing after.” She chuckled with a sudden, giddy urge to pounce on and bite the stunning man next to her. It had been years since she she had a drink, and she was feeling it.

“The Warden spends three years doing Grey Warden shit, very important, I’m sure. Stop smirking like that."  _Mmm... Warden's mouth..._ He had to look away from her. "I’m trying to concentrate. During all of this, she has no time to grieve. She had the immense strength required to carry the burden of all she had been through, and perform admirably. Now, I witness her grief and it makes so much _sense._ It is smart, sane. She has put down her Grey Warden life for a breath and what comes alive within her is every hurt she held at bay while she did her duty.”

“It’s a sad story.” She drank deeply from the bottle and it was hard not to cry.

“But it is a beautiful story! The Hero is strong and brave,” he insisted, his voice soft and joyful. With a tender stroke of her arm he took the bottle from her hands. “Not so much at once, darling, you will get sick.”

“You left yourself out of the story.” She shook her head, shaking off the dulled pain of hearing it all spoken aloud. “I want to hear the part where Zevran finds his Warden in Orlais. _Then_ the story will be beautiful.”

“I don’t want to tell stories anymore.” He smiled, his heart quivering. He didn’t want to tell her how hard he searched, how far he traveled, the trail of death he left behind. The trail they’re still following. His guess, the Crows lost him right before he found Nyla. It won’t be long before they find him again. _One would think they would learn…_ he abandoned the thought and placed his attention back on her.

“Oooh. Alright. Have your secrets.” She pulled her eyes from his pensive face, breathed deeply, relaxed. “No, I want to continue the other story. Tell me more about the whore-raised assassin having to relax from returned affections of the noble-born Hero of Ferelden.”

“Well.” He leaned in and smiled at her playfully and purred, “It turns out, among other virtues, she is a fantastic lover.”

 _“Flirting!_ Oh... fantastic?” She was feeling good now, more animated, playful, tipsy. “From you, that seems like quite the compliment. I hear you have a lot of... erm… experience on the matter. Plenty of… points of reference.”

“Yes, I have been quite promiscuous in the past,” He let out a delighted chuckled. “This fantastic lover sets herself apart by, hmm...” That wasn’t quite it. That wasn’t it at all. There was no comparison. He sighed, drank a little more, and willed himself to feel more emboldened. “Making love to...” _Maker’s breath..._ the more he tried to explain it, the more complicated it became.

“Mmmhmm.” Captivated, she nuzzled affectionately into his neck, completely unaware of his aversion to these words. _Lover. Making love._ These words are completely acceptable to Nyla. This did not sound out of place to her. They _are_ lovers. They _did_ make love.

“Nyla?” he spoke in earnest.

This caught her tipsy attention and she sat up with a questioning hum.

“I can fuck anyone, but I can’t do what _we_ did with just anyone.” He took a deep breath, struggling to get it all out before it was lost, or he lost his nerve. “You are so responsive and I could feel you… enjoying me, I suppose? So much kissing and… your hand on my cheek… as I try to compare to others... It felt like more than simply a pleasant diversion.” He ran a hand through his hair, sighed, and took a drink. “I did not say it right. This is hard.”

“Ohhh. Affection, intimacy… These are new experiences to you?” She smiled a relaxed and gentle smile, heart soft with a desire to show him as much affection and intimacy as he could tolerate. She laced her fingers with his.

“Until now, I thought I had experienced them.” He floundered, grappling with the thought. He knew those words, he knew their meaning, but he didn’t know they meant… _that._ "I think... these words have new meaning."

“I never imagined…” Nyla began sadly, realizing how cut off he had been, how far he had come and how much he had grown. It made her heart swell and ache. A man so brilliant and bright, a lifetime with the Antivan Crows could not break him. “You’re amazing to me.”

Watching his face closely, it was almost too dark to see him. He was looking pensive again, and sad. Zevran was overwhelmed, and she adored him for it. How beautiful and heart wrenching it was to watch him grow and unfold before her.

“Zev? Come back to camp with me. I can’t see you so well right now.” She reached and caressed his cheek with gentle fingertips, tucked a wisp of hair behind his ear and brushed the length of it with the backs of her knuckles. “And I want to see you, perfect ears.”

He stood up with her, body buzzing from alcohol and a feeling of giddiness. He felt nourished by the affection and care she was showing him. It reaffirmed his belief he could trust her with anything. She held his hand, the bottle of brandy swinging in the other. Her excitement was contagious, and it was easy to put distance between himself and the overwhelmingly sweet words she had spoken.

“We made love, Zevran. It was beautiful,” she spoke softly. “And Maker’s _breath,_ I have never come so hard in my entire life. It could be that I hadn’t in several years-”

“Several years? Not even by your own hand?” He tilted his head at her, he couldn’t imagine it.

“Well, I did once shortly after Alistair died, but all it did was make me feel lonely and I cried myself to sleep.” Her smile was fake, and Zevran could feel the difference.

“That…” he sighed, holding her hand tighter and stroking with his thumb, “would definitely put me off of self pleasure as well. So… you were saying. Never come so hard in your life?” He felt sad for her, but she seemed so happy right now. Changing the subject back to something less heavy seemed just right, and Zevran was always happy to hear how amazing Zevran is.

“Truly! And never without my own hand involved in some way. Or a mouth. Not to say Alistair was a bad lover by any means. He was passionate, and he had a _huge_ \- I mean, Alistair and I… well, we were virginal, and explored together. Learned. With that kind of learning, add a Blight and lack of privacy, we were limited. And as quiet as we could be. Now, when we were staying at an inn... I don’t really want to talk about this… Anyway. You, however, already have a wealth of experience. I get the benefit of that.”

“A woman’s body is fickle, I’m glad I could so easily bring you so much pleasure.” Stated simply, his words did not express the pride and elation he felt. And he was only her _second_ lover? He found it endearing, felt a spark of something in his chest imagining what her criteria might be for selecting lovers. Surely she had more than two offers in her twenty-five years.

“Easy for you, maybe. I was spent after the second orgasm.” She grew quiet, examining her sense of relief at getting to simply talk about Alistair. Her memories made her smile, a sweet ache rested in the center of her chest, but didn’t consume her.

She sat on her bedroll, sitting with her side facing the fire. She felt _amazing._ She patted the space in front of her. He smiled with a chuckle as he sat, glad she desired something, glad to give it to her.

“I owe you one, by the way.” He spoke playfully, adding when she looked so puzzled, “One completion.”

“An orgasm?” She laugh-snorted gleefully, “No, Zevran, that’s not how it works.”

“It is. The things you did to me in the lake today, I couldn’t dream of not returning the favor,” he purred. Sitting up on his heels, he gave her a predatory look that made her want to agree with anything he said. “Lie back. Zevran is going to make his Warden’s toes curl.”

“Sweet Maker, I like where this is going,” she managed to say before he pulled on her legs and drug her lower on the bedroll with a playful growl.

As she laid on her back, she smiled at the sky for a moment before stuffing her pillow beneath her head to have a better view of the beautiful man settling between her thighs. She yelped, feeling his teeth pinch the sensitive skin on the back of her knee.

“Infernal biter!” She laughed and his eyes smiled mischievously as he nipped at her several more times, leaving a trail of bites and kisses up to her inner thigh. The brief twinges of pain, making her chuckle at first, made her whimper, heated her blood and thrilled her.

“Lovely woman.” He worshiped her, sliding her shirt up to her waist with slow dragging fingertips, feather-light touches. “And your aversion to smallclothes delights me.”

“I’m not averse-” She whimpered, feeling soft lips on her thigh, so near to her heat it was delightfully teasing.

“Mmm.” He lifted his head and smirked at her. “Less thinking, more pleasure.”

It had been far too long since Zevran had the chance to indulge in a woman in this way. His first taste of her shuddered through his body, and he sighed deeply, indulging in soft skin, the scent of her. He teased her, touching her softly, the way she loved to be touched. Fingertips brushed along places Nyla never imagined could create such divine sensations. Her wrists, the palms of her hands, her hips, the soft skin of her sides… she moaned for him as his hands whispered over the backs of her knees. It was blissful. Kisses and gentle nips punctuated by the occasional bite traveled in the wake of his hands. He hummed and growled his enjoyment, delighted in the needy roll of her hips and the way her cheeks flushed.

“Are you going to use that tongue or just tease me all night?” She panted with a chuckle, reaching a hand down to brush delicately along his ear.

“Both.” He spoke playfully with a smirk, delighting in her mask of humor as she pleaded for release. He rested a palm firmly on her belly to hold her still. Oh, he would give her exactly what she wanted.

“Uh oh.” she smiled and then gasped as he slipped a finger into her. The moment his tongue brushed her folds she hissed, her hands grabbed his head reflexively. “Oh. Fuck.” Her head fell back and hips rolled of their own accord, feeling so needy, teased to the point of frustration and he was looking so _pleased_ with himself. _“Fuck.”_

“Mmm.” He hummed, satisfied, his mouth on her, tongue wide and rolling flat against her heat, making her pull gently at his hair. _Her head always falls back like that when she’s close. H_ e slipped another finger into her, wiggling his fingers only a little, and her silent squeals made him painfully hard.

“Oh _fuck._ ” The combination of sensations was almost too much. “Oh _shit,”_ she was so close, on the cusp of her peak and it was driving her crazy. “ _Sweet fucking Maker.”_

He slipped a third finger inside of her and she _whined ‘ohhhh!’_ Curling his fingers inward he let her writhing hips take what she needed, humming his desire, approval, his seemingly infinite hunger for her. Tongue circling her pearl, he felt her body tighten. Her back arched, her hands were stiff on the back of his head clinging to him and her thighs pressed firm against his cheeks. Hips rolling, she felt so perfect, as always, stoking his desire to an unreasonable degree. Zevran reveled in her warmth, the scent of her, the way she shouted his name. The sounds she made sent chills along his neck and back. _Maker,_ he ached, _throbbed_ for her, and he already had her twice within the past day.

“Oh fuck. Kiss me, Zev.” She whispered desperately as her body writhed and trembled in the throes of her tapering peak, “I need you to kiss me.”

So he did, damp faced, he leaped at her with a growl, lips meeting hers, hands already working the laces of his breeches. He needed her soaking heat around him again, hands on his back, legs around him, breasts pressed against his chest.

It surprised her, feeling his impossibly hard length suddenly thrust into her with so much force, and she let out a guttural groan into his mouth. His arms wrapped beneath hers, gripping her shoulders, using the strength of his arms to pull her to meet his thrusts, to take her harder, faster. The force of his thrusts broke their kiss. Despite his exceptional control and the inebriation that enhances it, he felt himself close to his peak.

Sitting up, he rapidly pulled off his shirt and threw her legs over his shoulders and rested his palms on the ground on either side of her. She moaned wantonly at slow strokes, reached a hand up to caress his cheek. Closing his eyes, he affectionately leaned into her touch. His hips rolled generously, hitting places deep within her, making her whimper and hair stand on end.

“Like that?” he panted, smiled a sultry smile at her.

 _“Yes. Like that,”_ Nyla rasped, her head tilting back, eyes half open. “Come with me, Zevran. Ohh, _Maker!_ ”

“Yesss,” he hissed feeling her grow tighter around him. “I’m going to...”

With her mewling and crooning his name, he growled with the intensity of his impending completion. He rested his full weight upon her to lean on his forearms. Allowing himself to follow her, he took her harder, sharp slapping sounds of flesh against flesh as his teeth firmly pressed into the soft skin of her shoulder. Hips writhing and pressing hard, he moaned and growled through these dire moments of passion.

Striking to him, was his desire to cling to her when normally he would pull away. They kissed, whimpering and sighing together and Zevran didn't want to let her go, but her labored breathing told him he was too heavy on her.

“Ahh. You’ve killed me, Zev. Took you long enough.” she panted, cackling with a loud snort at her own jest, limbs falling limp as he curled up next to her. She sounded _joyful,_ and he kissed her shoulder several times, his hand running along her abdomen.

“I am owed a great deal of coin then,” he panted, cock throbbing and body relaxed. 

“Silly.” she snorted a few times in a bout of laughter. She groaned as she sat up. “Let’s get another bath. Zev, please don’t sleep yet. The thought of being alone makes me sad and I’m too inebriated for sleep. I’ll drink the rest of this by myself and you’ll find me dead somewhere, or something equally as weird.”

He laughed hard. “Mmm. Not sleeping, darling. I am after-glowing.” He sighed contentedly, stretched and sat up with her. His pants were still around his ankles and he stood, pulling them off. He waited for her to finish a long swig of brandy before lifting her in his arms, stumbling a little at first, and righting himself. “What could possibly be as weird as death?”

“I can’t think of anything right now, but rest assured, there is something and I have seen it.  Haven’t you carried me around enough?” She chuckled, holding the bottle to his lips so he could drink. He stopped, she tilted, and there was a striking joy in his heart, the way she slung both arms around his neck to kiss him deeply, afterward.

“You are naked. I _want_ to carry you. You’re really going to get into a scary lake in the darkness?”

“Why feel troubled with you by my side?” she crooned, and Zevran could have melted away into a puddle of blissful wonderment. “That, and I’m drunk enough to numb out most unpleasant feelings, and I find myself fixating on the things that excite me or make me happy.”

“Such as?” He asked as he lowered his head to playfully bite her arm.

“I feel happy with you. I see… what is it... hope? It’s good. A shift in perspective.”

“I had hoped for that.” He strode into the lake and walked out far enough to sit comfortably, slipping and sending them both into the water with a splash. Her squeals and snorty laughter echoed around him and he felt happier than he had in a very long time. She settled in front of him and he wrapped his arms around her stomach, indulging in the softness of her skin and peppering her shoulders with kisses and humming contentedly.

“I wasted so much time detached from myself.” Nyla leaned her head back on his shoulder to gaze at the stars. “And now it feels like everything is... relentless. It’s too much. You say it’s sane, but it certainly doesn’t feel that way. It feels crazy. Chaotic. Sometimes I surprise myself with my own behavior. I’m unpredictable even to myself. I just don’t know how you tolerate me- _something is touching my leg!_ ” she squealed and squirmed.

“It’s my leg.” he chuckled, enunciating with movement to show her. “See? Do not fear. Zevran will not let you get eaten by fish. Ah, the fish.” He remembered what was likely just charred remains over their fire pit.

“Shit. It’ll be okay. Thank you for trying, though. Catching fish. How did you catch a fish? What with?” She chuckled, leaning her head back on his shoulder. “Oh, you know what surprised the shit out of me? Discovering that you’re not completely hairless apart from what’s on your head. Not that I was... wondering... at... great... length... Stop talking, Cousland.” She cleared her throat and turned her head to nip his jawline. “I love how not tall you are. When I’m close to you, your face is always near my face, right where I need it.” She nibbled his jaw again as he drank.

“Mmm… Zevran is not tall or completely without body hair. So sweet of you to say!” He laughed, smiled, and their lips met for a slow kiss that made toes curl. Talking without pause for intake of air and full of play and good humor; this was more like the Warden he remembered. “So. Dearest Warden, you insisted we should talk about where we are headed. Zevran is curious now, where are we headed?”

“You do the third person thing even more when you’re inebriated. It’s... _adorable_.” Nyla uncorked the bottle and took a long draw. “Let’s not talk about it now, perfect ears.” she brushed the tip of her nose against his cheek. “We’re relaxing.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Warden makes a difficult decision while under duress.

Nyla woke in his arms, the night’s Antivan brandy binge lingering behind her eyes as a subtle headache.

Zevran was curled around her, and she around him, breath to breath, her leg draped lazily over his hip. His arm was a magnificent pillow and she noticed a surprising lack of complaint from her neck and shoulders. Getting used to waking up to him was so much easier than getting used to waking up without Alistair wrapped around her. A sweet ache accompanied the memory, and she smiled.  

Brushing delicate fingers along the contours of the muscular arm wrapped snugly around her, she rested a palm on his chest. A gentle breeze moved his golden hair across his brow and she took it upon herself to brush it away, slowly tucking it behind his ear. Her fingers lovingly caressed the elegant length of his ear; the part of him that somehow filled her with a sense of wonderment and desire. She glanced at the early morning sky and pushed time from her mind, just for now, just to enjoy him for a little longer.

Last night had been sweet. After their discussion about affection and intimacy, he adapted so quickly to his broader understanding. He was less reserved in his touches. Nyla could feel him feeling his affection and he seemed _happy._ Eyes shone with wonderment and awe as he placed so much attention on _being_ intimate, doing intimate things. Nyla could feel him soaking up her displays of affection and offers of intimacy, and it was too beautiful; all she had to do was receive him, reciprocate, and he flourished.

He woke to Nyla’s touches, opening his eyes to see a tender sorrow and awe in her expression, but she was _smiling._ Pulling her close, he basked in her warmth and kissed her temple. Waking to her, smiling and naked in his arms was _perfect._  

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” she whispered. Curling into his chest, soft skin feeling sweet beneath her cheek, his heartbeat was soothing.

“Then you should not be playing with Zevran’s ears,” he spoke playfully through a stifled yawn.

“It’s time to go today,” she whispered.

“Is it?” Blinking rapidly, his brow furrowed. She sounded soft and sad when she spoke, and it confused him. Moving on wasn’t bad, it just meant they were going to do something else now. Didn’t it?

“Yes. I have Grey Warden business, and you have Crows on your heel.”

“Ah. Warden always remembers everything I say even when she is drunk.” Zevran smiled. Still, he did not want this weight on her. “Not to worry. If they show up, I will kill them.”

“Show up? Zev, you’re naked.” She cackled and snorted, “ _naked fighting!”_ She noticed a significant increase in her general mood, her inner turmoil down to a low simmer. She pressed her lips firm against his chest.

“Yes, naked.” He chuckled and writhed against her, running a hand along the smooth thigh draped over his hip. Guiding her to look up at him with the crook of his finger beneath her chin, he affectionately brushed his nose against hers for a sweet moment .

“Displaying affection, you insatiable man,” her chuckle cut was off with a deep kiss as he rolled on top of her, the fingers of both hands laced with hers and pinned above her head.  

“Yes. Once more before we leave, then?”  He nibbled on the sensitive skin of her neck and began a line of kisses all the way down to the delightful valley between her breasts.

“I can’t say no to you.” She crooned, wrapping her legs around the increasingly familiar contours of his body, his length pressing snugly along her folds. She added with a smirk,“Or decline such a very generous offer.” She rolled her hips in needy anticipation.

“You’re about to start cursing,” he purred, chuckling and sighing in his own burning need for her.

 _"Shit.”_ She chortled, heat rapidly building in her core. “Well, don’t you have me figured out?”

 

*******

Dressed and ready, the last of their packing was in progress. Being busy felt unsettling to Nyla, and she wondered if she wasn’t quite ready. She struggled with pushing back painful thoughts of Alistair and the growing warmth she had for Zevran. A believer in soulmates, Nyla thought she had found hers in Alistair. Zevran, armed to the teeth in black leather, looked beautiful and dangerous. With what looked like the skull of a bird resting atop his head, he was intimidating, and it only lent to his beauty. She cared for him so deeply. _Could I possibly have a future with Zevran when Alistair was my one?_

This was a choice point; she could surrender to this, or she could run from him. Her musings were a weight on her, and she felt alone in them.

“Zevran?” she looked up from her pack where she had been frantically digging. “You said some of my things were thrown, do you remember?”

“Yes? What’s wrong? Did you lose something?” He abandoned the task of affixing his bags to his horse and approached her.

“My rose. The rose is gone.” she upturned her pack, scattering its contents. Parchment, quills, ink, a water cup, several letters, all of it scattered further in her frantic search. “Think, Zev, did you see it? Do you remember… fuck, you wouldn’t remember. _Fuck._ You wouldn’t have even seen it.”

“I did not see a rose.” His heart dropped. She did not need this on top of everything else percolating in her troubled mind. “I would have recognized it for what it was. I would have kept it safe for you.”

“It wasn’t a rose anymore,” her voice wavered. “It died, all of its petals crumbled. Damn it, it was a fucking stick.” She sat down and rested her elbows on her knees, feeling a burning rage and sadness under layers of denial. “Zevran… it was all I had left of him...” _You should be used to this, Cousland._

Wordlessly,  Zevran began picking up her things, stacking parchment and sifting through quills, searching every corner and hidden pocket of her pack. She watched closely with bated breath and trembling limbs, her heart beating fiercely in her chest. Knowing it wasn’t there, she still felt the hope that it would simply appear.

“I’m sorry,” he broke the silence and knelt in front of her. She looked so cold and angry, her cheeks flushed, lips pursed. He reached out a gloved hand to stroke her cheek. She was going to push him away, but that wasn't going to stop him from trying.

Immediately she felt the beginning of tears as he touched her, and her heart tightened with resistance. _Move it, Cousland._ She shook him off, ignored the soft compassion in his eyes and began haphazardly cramming her belongings back in her bag. _There’s no more time to deal with your shit, Cousland. It’s time to go._ “It’s not your fault. Get ready to go.”

“Nyla, slow down.” He stayed with her, even as she dismissed him. “I see you hurting. You don’t need to keep hurting.”

“Pack your things and let’s go, if you're coming,” she spoke coldly. She inwardly cringed at her own behavior.

“Where are we going that requires such sudden expediency?” He stood up with her, stunned by her harshness; there had to be a reason for it. “Are we in a hurry?”

She had no response, resumed gathering her things and didn’t look at him. No, he could not stand for this. This didn’t feel right, after all they had been through together, tears and talking and making love.

“You _know_ I’m coming with you. There is little purpose for you to push me away and be so cold. Tell me what is going on.” His tone was firm. He tried to be kind to her, knowing the cruelty she was likely inflicting upon herself; she did not need more.

“Zev!” She barked, raging at how he was challenging her. She didn’t want to look at what a bitch she was being, to him and to herself, and he was forcing her to. _I just don’t feel right, just back off! FUCK._

Just one pause to slow down and truly look at him, Nyla felt as though Zevran was strolling right through every wall she had built around herself. She ached to feel normal again, to feel closer to him and feel her trust in him, but _it hurts, Maker, it hurts_. A few steps toward him, she wrapped her arms around him, and rested her forehead on his shoulder. She didn’t know how to express the immense pain, confusion and frustration she was feeling in that moment. “You’re right, you didn’t do anything wrong. I apologize for treating you so.”

He ached to know what she needed, how to help her. Their eyes stayed locked as she backed away. There was hurt and longing in her gaze.

Strained silence followed, her pack being more carefully assembled so all of its contents fit. Everything felt wrong, to Zevran. After hugging him, Nyla resumed her cold demeanor, though he imagined she didn't mean to. _My poor Warden._

Zevran bent down to roll up his bedroll that had been laid out against hers. Kneeling next to him, Nyla began the task of tightly rolling up her own. They both saw it at the same time, and Zevran feared for her as he saw anguish wash over her hardened stare.

“Alistair’s letter.” She whispered and picked it up. It was crumpled, flattened beneath the bedroll, dirty and damp. Her heart clenched within her chest and she tried to rub out the cinching pain through her armor to no avail. “I had… forgotten it. I… we… fucked on it. Several times. I don’t think this is what he meant when he said for you to take care of me.” Pain renewed, with shaking hands, she stared at it as if it were the impending death of her. _You shut me out, hid from me, didn’t trust me and I expected more of you… Alistair, what do I do with this?_

“No, do not torture yourself.” Zevran took the letter from her. He spoke firmly, “There is nothing in this letter that said we should not care for each other deeply or make love. You are reading it wrong. He wanted happiness for you, Nyla. More than anything, he wanted happiness for you. Like I want happiness for you.” _Please, tell me everything, let me catch you..._

He could feel her shutting down; her face had gone blank, betraying nothing, staring at him as if he were a stranger. She wavered on her feet, heart thrumming wildly, she fell hard to her knees. _My rose… the letter… why is this happening?_

Zevran kneeled by her and pulled her close, her cheek against the black leather adorning his chest. A kiss pressed to her forehead, a soothing voice barely cut through the din of a high pitched ringing in her ears. _“Breathe… safe… I have you.”_

“Let’s keep moving.” Her own voice sounded flat to her, hollow and she couldn’t feel anything. When she looked within, she was met with a rabbit hole of confusion, questions without answers. _The sound of wind in the trees, armor tight against my skin, the dryness of my mouth… Why doesn’t it feel good when you hold me? I want to feel good._

“Nyla, not yet.” He held tight to her. “Let me catch you. _Talk_ with me. Show me where you are... tell me what is happening for you.”

“A Deep Roads entrance in the Planasene Forest outside of Kirkwall. A few hours on horseback. I will seal it. There may be darkspawn.” Being on-task slowed down the flurry of jumbled thoughts, her world slowly uncollapsing.

“I was talking about _you._ About _this._ You fell to your knees.” His mouth felt dry. He wanted to pull her closer, squeeze her tighter; he just wanted to stay here hidden away with her until she was _better._ Not now, not yet… she needed more _time._ “Why are you pretending this isn’t happening? That you are not hurting?”

“I felt dizzy.” _My tongue against my teeth, the green of the trees, the warmth of Zevran… my heart is slowing. Alistair, what do I do?_ “I’m okay. This entrance is largely inactive. The taint in my blood might attract a wandering few.”

“Nyla?” He spoke again lifting her chin to look at him. Dark, tired eyes searched his face as if confused. “Let’s stay here a little longer. I don’t believe you are ready to go. I fear for you and how much you are hurting.”

“It is my _duty_ , Zevran. Our family always does our duty first. This should already be done.” Nyla insisted. Why wouldn’t he let it go? The pain always passed, even faster when she could ignore it. “I'm alright. It's going to be fine. I’m okay. I’m fine.”

Zevran heard the quivering in her voice, saw her trembling with the efforts of remaining calm, and still she insisted that all was fine. It seemed like she hadn’t heard a single word he said.

“Nyla… you keep saying you’re okay.” he took a deep breath, feeling absolutely helpless but trying to get through to her just one more time. This didn't feel right, and he was unaccustomed to her distrust. _Why isn’t she listening?_ “Are you lying to me?”

“Zev, it’s going to be okay. I just feel a little off.” She started to feel awake again. Blinking rapidly, she pulled away from him, “Come on. This will be fun.”

She was leaving, so he followed.

 

*******

“We are close.” She finally broke their silence after a few hours ride.

Nyla thought she had needed the silence. _Everyone you love dies, Cousland._ Still, a sickness clung to her she could not identify. _Zevran will die._ Darkness rested in her bones, arguing that nothing will ever be okay again. _You were born to hurt._ She argued with it until she grew tired, and it was relentless. _Shut up. Stop, please stop, I’m okay I’m okay. No, Cousland, you are broken._

“Darkspawn, Zev. They are beneath our feet, deep underground. They are still, but they are there.” Her eyes widened with excitement, and just feeling the familiar thrumming in her blood was relaxing, even if unsettling.

“This is fun for you.” Zevran spoke, a charming smirk playing on his lips.

“Yes.” She was awake, alert, alive. “I am in my element.” She added with as much seriousness as she could muster, “I am... _Grey Wardening.”_

He cackled at this. “You looked very serious. That was good.”

His laughter eased the ache in the center of her chest, but it seemed to just settle in her belly instead. Nodding in thanks, she pursed her lips to repress a smile, gestured with her head, an invitation for him to follow.

The terrain was uneven, eventually leading to a small cliff face within a clearing. She dismounted and he followed suit. Before them, several yards away, was the mouth of a cave. It was small. Wide enough for two to stand side by side with ease, and tall enough for her to stand and reach her arms up almost to touch; she checked.

“This is not the entrance to a thaig, though I suspect we would find one eventually, if we traveled the length of it.” She spoke softly. “This is an exit they dug themselves. Or an entrance. In the side of a little cliff like this… creative little bastards, aren’t they?”

Moving quickly she grabbed a round sack and untied it, displaying its contents to him.

“Black powder? Did you make this?” He chuckled, relaxing despite the circumstances which felt so dire. He rather enjoyed watching her work.

“Yes. It’s not efficient, a mage would be better, but alas, I must carry sacks of dirt in enchanted bags so I don’t inadvertantly explode myself.” She headed toward the mouth of the cave, furrowed her brow and went back for a second pack. “I wasn’t sure how big this would be. If I stuff it in the bottom corner and spread it upward, it should collapse upon itself nice and tight, hopefully collapsing part of the tunnel as well, if we’re lucky. Zevran, go tether the horses, please. This sound will scare them off and then we would have to walk from here on out.”

“Nyla?” He interrupted her excited chatter to get a sense of where she was. He wanted to say something, to express his care. Her eyes met his, and there was a long pause between them. “Be careful, yes?”

“I will. Let’s get this done. So you stay safe.” _Safe from… what? Darkspawn, or you?_ Nyla shook her head, dismissing the thought with a silent growl.

“I see no danger.” Zevran didn’t understand her urgency, it was disconcerting.

“Go! I know what I’m doing.” She turned away, beginning the task of laying out the black powder. Starting in the corner of where the cave entrance met the ground, she spread it upward, dropping hands full in cracks and crevices. The effect, she hoped, would be one big bang followed by several smaller ones.

“Farther back, Zev.” she called to him. She rubbed her palms together in excited anticipation of making something explode; a rare treat.

He looked back at her, as he walked quickly away to tether their horses. She was inside the cave digging through her pack. _Relax, Zevran. Trust your Warden. She knows how to do her job and it is making her happy._

She retrieved her spool containing the fuse she made. Her pride and joy; a length of thin, cotton rope weaved around a bit of black powder and coated in a thin layer of wax. Slipping one end into the powder , she walked outside into the sunlight again, laid the length of it on the ground.

“Stay back!” She called to him. “I’m lighting it now.” She turned, striking her flint with the small knife from her boot.

This was her favorite part of exploding things. Well, second to seeing things explode, of course. _Too bad I won’t get to see it_. Tears tickled her cheeks, her heart pounded, her hands shook. Several strikes later, the fuse lit, and her lips trembled as the sparks danced and sizzled.

Zevran heard her voice, and he watched with trepidation as she stood and turned to look at him. Something in the way she stood so still, looking back at him made his hair stand on end.

“Nyla?” _Something is wrong._ He took a step closer to her as she sprinted into the cave.

His chest hurt as if his heart was stopping; a tight aching radiated through his body, like getting crushed by tons of stone. He had no words or thoughts to express what was happening for him. _It hurts… Nyla..._

The initial explosion was loud, making him recoil and he shielded his eyes as he was pelted with dirt and small stones. Several smaller crackles followed, and time slowed to a crawl. Squinting from behind a protective arm he watched the rocks tumble upon each other. This was his nightmare coming true. Cracking and crumbling, stones kept falling. Nyla’s survival seemed improbable, not to mention, the worst possible outcome.

Zevran stared at what looked like nothing more than a pile of rocks against a cliff face, and it brought him to his knees. The dust had not yet settled and there were tears in his eyes; he could barely see through them.

 

*******

Nyla woke with a loud groan. Head pounding, back and neck hurting, everything was black no matter how hard she blinked her eyes. She lifted her cheek from the dirt, her arms splaying out to feel around her and get her bearings. To her right, a wide open space covered in rubble. To her left, the cave wall, her pack _._ Raising up on her elbows, everything came back to her with startling clarity and she wondered how long she had been lying there.

“Oh, fuck.” She whimpered, blinking in the darkness. Every joint ached and complained as she groaned to pull her leg from beneath the fallen stones. More so than the weight of rock, time beneath it seemed to be the cause of injury. She made it to her hands and knees and dragged her battered body away from the settling debris. Her jaw was sore, and she spat out granules of dirt. _So, Cousland, is this really what you wanted?_

“Maker, no.” she spoke softly, trying to work the kinks from her neck. She trembled at the memory of Zevran and waves of grief shuddered along her shoulders. She closed her eyes and imagined him speaking to her in his distinct Antivan brogue, _‘look at my eyes, breathe slower.’_

Neck and shoulders aching fiercely, she stumbled to standing despite the agony in her leg. With intermittent flashes of horror it came back to her, how he looked at her before she fled; innocent curiosity and concern in his soft eyes. _This is for the best,_ Nyla reminded herself, yet she was on the cusp of tears. She flung the pack over her shoulder, unsure of why she would even bother to keep it.

Nyla was rife with remorse. Feeling around her, blinking in the dark, the air was stale and the subtle stench of darkspawn carried to her. Almost falling to her knees imagining never seeing Zevran again, she reminded herself again that this was for the best.  

Leaning against the wall, she fished around her pack for elfroot. Feeling the unmistakable vial, she scowled and uncorked it with her teeth. _I cannot believe this. Here lies the Warden Commander Cousland: The bitch fucked off, abandoned her post, her lover... and her last meal was elfroot._

“I would be the very _death_ of him. I didn’t abandon him, I saved him,” she insisted, and then swallowed the contents of the vial. The relief was almost instantaneous, like magic, only gross. _As always, eighty percent better, but not quite enough._ She was able to walk with more ease, only shooting pain in her leg and neck as she tried to stand straight. Without so much pain in her body, her thinking cleared.

Her thinking cleared enough to bring her to her knees and howl. She had gifted herself a slow death, and abandoned someone who loved her. _It was for the best._

She missed him. His lips, that smile, those elegant ears, soft, golden hair, masculine jaw… not long ago he was within arms reach and she hadn’t kissed him once. _Not once._ She had been distant and cold. The distance hurt him, she could tell, but she had felt so empty. _Maker, what is wrong with me?_

She stood shakily, staring into the black until she was motivated to move. Nyla was shocked by what she had done. No light, stale air, she hadn’t any supplies; this was truly her end. With the chill of the deep roads sinking into her bones, she began her journey forward, fingers dragging along the wall. She stopped to sob several times within the first few limping steps.

Zevran had found her, an empty shell of a human, and simply loved her _._

Thinking this made her _burn_ for him. Zevran sought her out, and despite her abuse, followed, saved her life. Pain was her life, and he showed her that something else was possible. He bared his very soul to her, showed her his tears, let her in as much as he was able. He made love with her, was devoted to her, loved her, and it was everything she had ever wanted. How was love even _possible_ after Alistair? Still, she had felt it coming for her, unavoidable as the tide, sweeping her away before she could know to fight it off.

Nyla felt the weight of the distance between herself and Zevran with each step. It all felt like a horrible dream she couldn’t wake from, and she wondered in awe how she had made the decision, and why. _Get moving, Cousland. It’s over._

She had to get away. Had to save him before history repeated itself, before he died as horribly as everyone else she loved. The logic _was_ there as she ran into the cave. An abrupt epiphany, her only chance to go somewhere he couldn’t follow. Get away from Zevran to keep him safe from her.

No more beautiful words or touches. No more laughter. No more playful smirks, perfect ears or buoyant lake sex. All the beauty they shared was gone. _But at least he’s safe now._

“Fuck.” She sobbed, feeling the burning ache of regret and longing. She almost couldn’t breathe. _'L_ _ook at my eyes, Nyla. Breathe slower. I have you.’_ His voice was clear in her memory and she wanted to scream.

Zevran was right. They should have stayed in their safe haven by the lake for a little longer. But she felt pushed, or called here as if this was the most important thing in the world. _To save Zevran. Now you get to see what it feels like to sacrifice yourself for your love._

“Fuck.” She stumbled in the stifling darkness. This wasn’t her first trip through the Deep Roads, but this was different. She was walking to her end; an end that she _chose._ It felt impossible to numb herself, she was feeling too much. Reality was setting in and serving her visions of what Zevran must be doing right now. No doubt feeling angry and betrayed, and she wanted more than anything to take his pain away. _What have I done?_

She hurt deeply. She wept hard. She kept going.

 

*******

Night had fallen on Zevran, and he still had not moved from where he sat in front of the wall of rubble that would forever haunt his memory. He would pull that wall down with his bare hands if he thought it would save her.

She had made her choice, and that choice was to end her own life; the ache within his chest was undeniable and unrelenting. He yearned for her to come back, to explain, but when he imagined speaking with her again he was hit with a wall of anger that somehow seemed even more painful than mourning her.

With a great cry he stood, ran as he unsheathed his daggers and unleashed his anger upon the trunk of a tree. When the energetic rush of slicing and stabbing didn’t soothe the ache or calm the rage, he climbed. He scrambled up the tree as if it could get him away from it; of course, it followed him, and it was suffocating. Piece by piece he removed his armor, letting it drop to the ground below, leaving him in only his black leather breeches.

From his perch, he stared at the sealed entrance bathed in moonlight. The immobilizing pain ran deep, he did not have what it took to fight it. He tried to stay numb as he thought of her and grappled with the loss of her.

Such beautiful memories of her in his arms. How perfect she felt beneath him. He had felt safe with her. Cherished. Valued. It was the most beautiful thing he ever had in his life. It took him an approximated twenty-nine years to feel what he felt with her, and he longed to have it back; have _her_ back.

These authentic moments in his life were scarce, almost non-existent, and he held them close to his heart like sacred treasures. Every kiss, every sweet gesture, tinkle of snorting laughter and moment of desperate passion gave him a sweet ache that made him want to howl.

Growing up with the Crows, everything he had been taught told him what he was feeling for Nyla was wrong. Trained to make his heart cold in favor of the kill, he could sell the illusion of love, and it left him skewed. _Or perhaps they were right about everything._

Alistair may not have meant to take her with him as he went, but he did, and Zevran couldn’t deny the resentment he felt. Alistair’s lie destroyed her.

As he ate the small ration of cashews from his pouch, they were tasteless. His mind wandered to graceful hands that fed him breakfast, a warm finger caressing his lip and making his loins stir. It was Nyla who did that. Nyla Cousland. She had left him behind forever. Again.

 _Perhaps if she had given me more time, I could have helped her be happy again._ He sat back and let her smiling face burn into his memory and he felt so soft for her. _She was troubled, she did not mean for this._

Her missing rose, rediscovering Alistair’s letter; so strained, so overwhelmed, she had nearly fallen unconscious. Their silent journey together, the eerie sense he had when they arrived... she had been so erratic. Cold, and then giddy. Sadness, more coldness. Frustration and confusion followed jokes and more coldness… and then she killed herself. Zevran was shattered, and he wanted to forgive her, so he could have his beautiful memories unspoilt.

_My sweet Warden was troubled, she did not mean for this._


	9. Chapter 9

Zevran went to sleep numb and empty, but he did not wake up that way. His heart was sore and raw, fluctuating between denial and anger.

The previous morning she was in his arms, smiling and placing affectionate kisses on his bare chest. He had made love to her. Playful and intimate, heated lazy kisses and slow moving hips… it was perfect. This made no sense!

No, this was his fault, and it made perfect sense.

He shouldn’t have made love to her in the first place. She had been so pained, so desperate for comfort, he should not have kissed her after he felt her lips brush his throat as sweetly as they did. He did not mean to prey upon her, he was just so… taken.

Still, how could he think it was okay, and so soon? _Nyla, I’m so sorry._

As far as Zevran could tell, he was as bad as Alistair. Using her for his own happiness, inconsiderate of how he might leave her aching and broken in the end.

Zevran felt as though he understood Alistair a little more, and the anger towards him softened. There was something about her, so utterly inviting, so damned disarming. Zevran had no idea he needed to look out for this, and he should have.

All Zevran ever wanted was to make sure she was safe. When he found his Warden, she pushed him away, _hard,_ and she even struck him. Finding her, _finally,_ after years of following a trail that fluctuated rapidly between hot and cold, she looked like Nyla, but the light he cherished was extinguished from her eyes. She was lost and needed help. He only wanted her to be okay. He simply wanted to give her everything.

Sitting in front of Nyla’s Deep Roads grave, he ached all over and faced his greatest fear.

Zevran allowed another woman to touch something within him, and clumsily, he had been the death of her.

 

*******

Exhausted, Nyla curled up with her pack under her head. Body battered, hunger pains in her hollow belly, her mouth parched, the cold settled in her bones and she prayed not to wake. Ill equipped for the Deep Roads, she was still completely blown away by how she even got there. With a sleepy whimper she shivered herself into a restless slumber.  

 

_With the rumble of earth and a blast she covered her head. Curled up on her side as tightly as she could, holding her head, she screamed._

_“Zevran please, please help me, I don’t know what I have done. I don’t know what is happening.”_

_When the earth stilled, light and and the sound of footsteps caught her attention and she slowly unfolded and sat up._

_“You forgot the last of your gaatlok.” Zevran stood above her, glaring down angrily with his arms folded across his chest._

_All she could do was tremble pathetically under his glare. She would have been relieved to see him, if it wasn’t for his obvious disgust with her._

_“If you wanted to leave, wanted me to leave, you did not have to do it like this.” He turned away from her, ignoring the abject pain in her face. Ignoring the childlike fear in her eyes, the loneliness she must have been feeling._

 

Nyla woke with a startled cry and intake of stale air, a desperate apology lingered on the tip of her tongue. She shivered from the cold, limbs numb from sleeping on dirt and stone.

Time was lost on her after waking from her restless sleep. She felt like it must have been days since she left. Snippets of her dreaming haunted her, and try as she might to shake them off, her heart felt constricted as they drifted in and out of her thoughts.

The darkness was stifling, she knew only from the subtle decline that she was going in the right direction; down further into the earth, away from Zevran. Why? Why had she done this? _You left because your love kills people. He was too close._

She shook her head hard, fending off the stabbing grief that accompanied the thought. Creative and poignant words from the self-deprecating voice in her head clung to her, slowing her steps. What was it that Zev had said to her about creativity? He said everyone has it, but is it like hers? Does this creativity make everyone want to crawl out of their skin? Feel useless and broken? Does it ruin their lives, too?

She cringed, face contorted with tears as she faced what she had done. _You abandoned him, Cousland! He believes he failed._

Zevran had taken her hand and pulled her from the depths of the dark world where she had been lost and wandering. He was a friend when she needed one and she left him behind without a word of thanks or goodbye _._ She could not catch him. She did not have him. Zevran was alone.

“It was for the best.” She insisted. “Alistair was my one, I have nothing left to offer Zevran. What the fuck is he going to do with a broken woman?” _Laugh, love… make love. You know, the shit you were doing. Or you can break the both of you. That’s fine too._

“I didn’t break anyone.” She tried to reassure herself, limping along faster as if she could run from what she had done. With her hand dragging along the wall, she followed the curve of the path beneath her feet.

Zevran had come so far, faced so much, overcome so much, just to feel what came so easily to Nyla. Warm tears spilled down her cheeks as her mind spun and a headache blossomed behind her eyes. _Zevran is fine. Zevran is wise and strong. Resilient. He’s had worse. I didn’t break anyone._

She had to run away from him. If she stopped to speak with him, it would have given her pause. She would have questioned everything and curled into his arms to forget it all.

Maker, she should have stopped to speak with him.

She trudged along, her blood warming and limbs loosening. The darkness loomed on and the same thoughts looped over and over. She growled in frustration at the seeming futility of everything she had ever done, including this. _Futile, Lady Cousland, Killer of Kings._

“That’s not fair, that’s not what I had _wanted,_ ” she growled through tears as the insult sunk into the very center of her heart.

Alistair’s entire life was unfair. He didn’t even have parents. He lived as an unwanted fucking orphan, and the result was _that man._ Alistair. Precious. So perfect. A smile that lit up a room, a soft, cheery way of being that brought levity to any darkness. Brave and dutiful to the last, he was the epitome of goodness. So innocent, through and through. A perfect partner. A king among men, and somehow she had his love.

His end was worse than his life. The bravery of the final blow. The courage and integrity of meeting her eyes to say goodbye, and then running toward his demise; he possessed more bravery than she could ever aspire to attain. And to think at one point she thought she was worthy of him.

Every waking and dreaming moment since Alistair’s death had Nyla staring the burden of his sacrifice square in the face. _And now, there is another man that you have completely failed on all counts._

Alistair deserved the best of everything, and she would have sacrificed everything, including her very soul, to see him have it. Perhaps those were Alistair’s thoughts as well, when he made his choices. ‘ _I knew this was going to be my fate, and the only thing that concerns me right now is hers.’_

And when all was said and done, he sent her exactly who she needed, and it befuddled her how he could possibly have guessed- _‘I was under the impression that the two of you were romantically involved.’_...or maybe it wasn’t a mystery at all.

Alistair had handed her a second chance at life and she treated it as a burden. He sent her a second chance at love, either on accident or by design, and she had thrown it away.

She began walking again, shaking from emotion and cold, exhaustion setting in. She was sweating. All of these thoughts, these realizations, had come far too late. _Or maybe the Maker wanted me to die with some semblance of peace._

Her hand ran out of wall to follow. She stumbled and spun, arms outstretched to grasp her position and get her bearings. The path split into a T, she could go left, or right. It was the most exciting thing to happen to her in… several moments. _A literal fucking crossroads during this entire line of thinking is un-fucking-fair._

After her brief spinning, she stumbled to the ground and held her pack close. She needed food badly, feeling faint with hunger.  

Her pack was, as she suspected, filled nothing but tools. Random useful things she found she had needed in her travels _._ It couldn’t hurt to check, though. Her hand landed on a leather drawstring pouch that felt unfamiliar. Opening it, she reached in and felt the familiar crescent shape of a cashew, Zevran’s favorite. She didn’t care how it got there, and it took all of her self control to ration the other half for later. Terribly thirsty and with a deep sense of calm, Nyla leaned her head back against the wall and began drifting off into sleep. _If this is where I die, then it would be a death befitting a Warden._

Nyla let herself rest, half-asleep and shivering, sweating, she was not well. Her thoughts spun with sadness and denial, she was lost and lonely. Imagining she was leaning back against Zevran brought her some semblance of peace. Maker, she missed him. _Ached_ for him. Perhaps there was no such thing as soulmate.  Perhaps there was no _one person_ for her. Or maybe it was Alistair, maybe it's Zevran… either way, it didn't seem to matter anymore. She loved Zevran, and admitting it to herself finally came with ease. She loved him.

And now she could die. This was stupid. Nyla wanted her life. She wanted Zevran. Not because she needed him to chase away the nightmare she was living. Not as a lost and broken thing acting at random and clamboring for any semblance of comfort, but as the solid woman he deserved. The solid woman he was trying so skillfully to bring out in her.  

She wanted to feel him near her, hear his voice, see those soft eyes, perfect ears. He might be angry, he might curse her, _and that’s okay, s_ he told herself gently, _I will catch him._

She stood and made her decision; an educated Grey-Wardeny decision involving wind resistance and the tilt of the ground.

_I’m the Hero of Ferelden._

_I’m the Hero because I lived to tell the tale._

_I’m the Hero because I have allies._

_And I’m the Hero because I loved and lost time and time again, and I can still love._

 

*******

Of all shirts for Zevran to grab at random, it had to be the very shirt Nyla wore. The one permeated with the mouth-watering scent of her; familiar, comforting and making his chest ache for something to hold. _Like raspberry leaf and pepper, the sweet smell of woodlands after a storm. You make me think in poetry, my Warden._

It had been two days since she had gone. He had considered leaving, it just seemed easier to wait for the Crows to track him down and put him out of his misery.

Feeling foolish at the memory of how much he enjoyed seeing her feminine frame in his shirt he wondered, _what was I thinking?_ It was this, among other things, that chased her off. He should have taken such strong desires as a cue to slow down, or back away… but no, instead, in her fragile state, he fucked her.  

It was perfect, it changed him for the better, and he could not fathom how something so beautiful turned out to be such a disaster. It brought him little comfort that Nyla had also chosen; Nyla was not well. She was vulnerable and relying on him. How he had failed her… so completely.

So much surrender. If there was anything else he could have surrendered to Nyla, he could not imagine what it was. He discovered he enjoyed holding hands, he told her his secrets, wept openly in front of her. She cried in his arms and trusted him, he trusted her...  he felt so fucking _safe._ He had released inside of her several times, and it was the most erotic and intimate thing he had ever experienced. With her, Zevran learned what it meant to make love, he learned nuances of receiving, refined his understanding of intimacy, and then shared in it with her, celebrated it with her, _revelled_ in it; it was fucking _beautiful!_ Was this truly not enough to live for?

Zevran only vaguely knew these things existed until he had them, and now they were gone.

His one ally, the one person he could ever trust to hold and comfort him was gone.

Zevran pulled the shirt off to get away from her scent, but it was still subtle on his skin. How he burned to do everything differently. Just like with Rinna, heartbreak and regret twisted his heart, wishing that somehow he could have just chosen something else.

He stood up, and squinted in the sunlight of another beautiful afternoon. Walking barefoot in only his black leather breeches, he stalked to his pack and sifted through parchments to find his picture.

The picture was his most prized possession; a charcoal drawing Wynne made just for him. He was sitting next to his Warden. She was smiling and looking at him with that keen attention he cherished so much. In the picture, Zevran looked like he may have been laughing, and his hand was aloft as if speaking something. Initially, the picture almost didn’t make sense to him. His _face_ didn’t make sense. This man didn’t look like an assassin. This is not what the mirror showed him. Where were the stern lines? The cold eyes?

The picture was of a simpler and happier time; during the Blight.

He hoped that his Warden’s memories of him were beautiful, and as she closed her eyes forever, remembered all they had shared and felt comforted.

*******

Nyla felt very clear, on-task, and in a hurry. Accidentally hitting the ground and taking an unplanned nap had cost her a lot of valuable time.

Her cashews were gone, and as she moved along, she heard a trickle of water and drank her fill from a little puddle. The grit in her teeth told her it was filled with sediment, Maker knows what else, but it was far better than dying of thirst. She splashed some on her face and felt more awake. Finding water, though; she must not be that far underground.

Apart from the total blindness, this wasn’t that bad. Easy, really. Most things are never this easy. Of course she would have that thought right before she picked up on rapidly approaching darkspawn.

“Maker’s balls,” she muttered, hobbling faster with a pained grimace. “Un-fucking-believable.”

Nyla could feel their attention on her, an unpleasant sensation in the back of her eyes, like looking at herself from the outside with a mindless bloodlust. It felt odd to have the urge to stab yourself and then eat your own flesh. Unsettling, but nothing she hadn’t encountered before.

It was only a matter of time before they made a move. A lone, injured Warden wandering their territory. If she were being a good Grey Warden, in good health and in any shape for fighting, she would have annihilated them before they had the chance to come for her.

This terrified her. It wouldn’t be difficult for them to overpower her. Nyla could hold her own… just not right now. Getting killed was the least of her concerns.

What if they were _those_ darkspawn, the ones that captured and drained her blood to awaken more darkspawn? What if they were those _other_ darkspawn, wanting to do that broodmother thing? She wasn’t even sure Grey Wardens could become broodmothers, and she wasn’t about to find out either.  

The urge to draw her weapons was strong, but that would mean slowing down and letting go of the wall. The air was clearer, she had to be near the exit. She had been in enough underground places to know. And _damn_ this subtle incline slowing her down. Her heart beat hard in her chest from trotting along the wall through the pain while calming her mind, reeling in fear.

Her vision faded from black to blue, and just like that, she was outside in open air. It was startling, the loss of the cave wall sent her tumbling flat onto her face, and she crawled. The world seemed too bright, her eyes burned, it was disorienting.  At the sound of a familiar blood-curdling roar, she realized they were literally right behind her. The darkspawn.

With a horrified shriek she grabbed for her daggers. They hadn’t struck her down, they were grabbing for her. Dragging her by her ankle, Nyla cried out in pain and fear. She couldn’t fight, she couldn’t even _see_ and she will be _damned_ if they were going to take her alive. _I will not be a broodmother!_

Without a second thought she pressed her dagger to her own throat, her wrist was quickly snatched away and she… just couldn’t believe this was happening. She was okay now… she was going to find Zevran and make it right. Each one of her limbs held, she struggled and twisted with everything she had left.

Suddenly dropped flat on her chest with a loud grunt, the wind was knocked out of her. The sounds of fighting was too close, and she made it to her elbows and on one knee, she crawled away. Her leg didn’t want to work, she could barely feel it. Breathless and lightheaded, her stomach lurched and rejected the wealth of water that took her what felt like days to find. She only barely noticed the silencing of the fray.

“Commander?” A surprised and concerned voice rang out.

“Name and rank.” Nyla demanded, rolling onto her back and sitting up. Sitting was painful, and she hissed, grit her teeth and let herself fall back on her elbows. Blinking, she could vaguely see the hooded figure coming toward her and her eyes were watery and burning. She pushed herself with her arms to back away, dragging the dead weight of her leg.

“I am an ally.” He whispered, laying a glowing blue palm on her chest. She fell back with a pained grunt.

The warm glow of magic washed through her and the relief from pain was so overwhelming, she wept. Exhaustion set in, and she succumbed to it.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fall away, Zevran.
> 
> Warden will catch you.

Nyla had been speaking in her sleep, breathy words dying off as her eyes drifted open. Blinking in the early morning sun shining through a smattering of leaves far overhead, the sleepy fog lifted. “Shit.”

She sat up, a grey cloak slid from her shoulders and pooled around her waist. He was sitting right next to her, alert, _bearded_. She smiled at him widely.

“Good morning, Commander. Awfully chatty. What’s this about Zevran? Isn’t that your assassin?” He flashed her a charming smirk and handed her a water skin, some bread, and meat.

 _“Shit!_ Anders!” Nyla’s smile felt permanent. She reached out with both hands and ruffled his hair. “Shit! Anders! Shit shit shit!”

“Smiling? That’s new. I didn’t know you knew how to do that without excessive provocation.” He chuckled and swatted her hands away.

“I thought you were dead. There was a corpse, we assumed it was yours. I was… deeply saddened.” A grievous understatement, given that she flew angry, demanding someone’s head on a pike. _He was my charge, you do not take a Grey Warden into custody!_ She sighed deeply and couldn't help smiling at him again.

“Aww. Drink and eat, before you die. So malnourished! What were you doing in there alone? Commander, you’re a _mess._ You could have died, or _worse.”_ He lectured with a stern tone laced with concern. “By the way, I’ve sealed this entrance. They won’t be a problem, for now.”

“Well done, Anders. I miss having you around for that.” Nyla furrowed her brow. _Did he just admonish the Commander?_ _Ah, well, he wasn’t wrong._ She spoke with her mouth full, “I’ve fucked up. Possibly one of the biggest fuckups of my entire life, and as you know, I have fucked up a _lot_. I need to find Zevran.”

“Find him where? Did he get lost in the Deep Roads?” He looked deeply perturbed, his troubled gaze landing on the sealed entrance.  

“Maker’s breath, no.” She imagined it; Zevan in the cold and dark without supplies, and her sense of urgency deepened. _“I_ got lost in the Deep Roads, he’s out here somewhere. He probably believes I’m dead. I have to get moving. If I had a map-”

“I have several.” He sifted through his pack and handed it to her. “Is he your traveling companion now?”

“He is...” Nyla looked up at him and sighed sadly, “More.”

“Ooh. Another lost love. That seems to keep happening to you.”

“I’ve fucked up, and I won’t stop until I find him and fix this.” She shook her head peering down at the map and tracing with her finger. “Where the fuck are we?”

Anders pointed out their location, and she had to look twice at what she discovered. Only six hours walking if she didn’t stop to rest.

“I have to go. Thanks for everything.” Nyla began slipping her gloves back on “Are you hiding from us? Will I see you again?”

“You won’t.” Anders smiled. “I’m glad we get to say goodbye, though. You were good to me, Commander. Happy to have saved you from… whatever that was.”

“Trust me, cheeky boy, nobody is happier about that than I am.” She stood and slung her pack over her shoulder.

“Oh I _know!_ You were screaming, and you tried to cut your own throat! It was hilarious.”

She sighed, blinking rapidly as clear memory of it struck her. “Sorry you had to see that.” She turned from him and began walking away and she stopped, realizing she wasn’t quite done. “I’ve… missed you, Anders. I hope I do get to see you again. Hope you get to meet Zevran. Please, tell me where you’re headed? I promise not to tell anyone.”

“No.” He strode to her and pulled her into a hug and she squeezed him tightly. “Bye, Commander.”

She smiled, looking back at Anders as she began her trek; he smiled and started walking in the opposite direction. After a few moments of jogging, Nyla stopped.

“Wait! Will you tell me what you’re doing here?” She called out to him.

“Nope!” Anders kept walking.  

“Why the fuck not?” She cackled, delighted and frustrated because he was being _typical Anders!_

He kept walking, raising an arm as if waving, speaking playfully in a sing-song voice, “Bye, Commander!”

Resuming her jog, Nyla whispered a small prayer that Zevran was still there, she couldn’t think of a single reason why he would be. He just _had_ to be. If he wasn't, she would never stop searching.

What was she going to say if she found her love again? Does she just… stroll up to him? _What will I say? Will he be angry? Relieved? Will he allow me close to him again?_

She let her hair down to protect her from the subtle chill on the wind, briefly brushing it with her fingers. She walked hard, sometimes jogging, the urgency she felt was palpable. A few hours in and things began to look familiar; she was making good time. Nyla pushed thoughts of trying to figure out what she would say if she found him. _Focus, Cousland. Stay on task._ Another hour later, she was looking at where they dismounted together. It felt like so long ago. Her heart pounded and she began to pray. _Maker, please let him be there…_  Rounding the corner of the very cliff face she demolished, she saw him, sitting in front of the sealed entrance she left behind her.

Sitting before a backdrop of brightly colored flowers, he had more in his hands. _Maker, what have I done?_ The pain in her heart was amplified by the cheerful beauty of the shrine she was beholding. She set her pack on the ground and removed her gloves. _I can fix this._ Her tender gaze rested on him. He did not even acknowledge someone was approaching him and her heart sank hard; he had no intent to defend himself. He didn’t care who was walking up to him.

His shoulders were not straight and proud, his hair hung lazily against his cheeks, eyes were downcast and he was fingering the petals of a pink and blue flower. She didn't know what to say. She approached him, very slowly. Pained lines marked his face, and it made him look aged and tired; never had she seen him like this. Nyla ached to take his pain away, ached over the devastation she had brought him after all he had given her.

“Zevran?” she spoke softly, tears thick in her voice. “Perdón que te haya dejado. I'm sorry.” _I’m sorry I left you._

He looked up at her, the storm in his eyes tore at her heart. Lines of tired misery painted his every feature, and it took her breath away.

Zevran was stunned. Nyla had survived the Deep Roads and had come to find him. She was speaking warmly to him, in _Antivan._ Hair disheveled, dried blood was stuck to her forehead and neck, and she was filthy, covered in dirt and grime. She looked so very exhausted, but so very alive. He could not imagine what she had been through to come back to him.

“¿Te puedo tocar?” _May I touch you?_ She spoke tearfully, unmoving, waiting for a response.

He parted his lips but no words would come, just the threat of a sob from deep in his chest; Zevran could see her love for him, her longing, and it hurt sweetly. Nyla kneeled down in front of him. His eyes followed her. She was weeping, whispering apologies as she reached a trembling hand toward him. Zevran leaped, wrapping his arms around her. They clung to each other tightly.

“Estabas muerta.” _You were dead,_ Zevran whispered into her shoulder. “Yo te necesitaba.” _I needed you._ He trembled, wanted to cry, but nothing would come. “Nyla did not have me.”

“No te preocupes mi cielo, jamás volveré a dejarte.” _Be still, my sweet, I will never leave you again._

Nyla pulled back to rest her forehead against his, her heart was breaking under the strain of having him in her arms again; she had him back, she was not going to fuck this up. “I'm sorry. I’ve failed us both. Please, come with me, back to where we were. Let me catch you.”

Zevran followed her lead, responding with a nod. The fog in his mind wasn’t so much unsettling as it was inhibiting his clear thinking; he _had_ to trust her because no other choices were apparent to him. He felt lost.

“Zev.” Nyla looked at him, lips quivering, forehead wrinkled and eyes misted over. He offered a half-hearted, tired smile; it was all he could muster. She touched his face in tender understanding and whispered, “I have you.”

The dark of night was upon them when they settled in their familiar camp, with bodies tended to and campfire blazing, Nyla sat by him. She did not call him out on his silence, she let it be, until it was suffocating.

“How long was I gone, Zev?” She whispered, feeling the relief of just having him there. There was a gentleness between them, as if anything but softness would destroy the other completely. Still, she dreaded his answer. _How long did I leave you in such torment, my sweet?_

“Three days,” he whispered, tears behind his eyes threatened at his memory of the pain of abandonment, betrayal and his failure.

“I can see you’re hurting. I want to fix this.” She was gentle as she spoke. Zevran picked a blade of grass and spun it idly between his fingers, saying nothing. “You said I read Alistair’s letter wrong. Would you tell me how?”

“Ah.” He smiled weakly, his eyes sad and tired. “I wish I could have explained this sooner, I…” he sighed, feeling weighed down by this secret, “didn’t know how to. Or when.”

Nyla sat closer to him until her leg touched his. He did not seem opposed to the closeness, but he didn’t welcome it either. She kept her tone soft. “Will you look at me as you speak?” When he did, she did not feel better for it. There was something new in his voice and countenance, his eyes; it hit her again, that through her actions, the man who held her heart may have been too deeply wounded.

“One night, Alistair and I, we were on watch together and we were drinking. A lot. Many of my best stories of him begin this way.” Zevran spoke sadly. “He was so very in love, and once he ran out of things to say about your greatness, he began... speaking of his enjoyment of, um… your _physicality,_ and I made the mistake of joining in on it.”

“What?” She snorted, face heating, feeling twinges of embarrassment. _Men!_

“He mentioned an amazing bosom, and I made mention of an exquisite hip to waist ratio. That did not seem to bother him as much as what I did with my hands.” He waved his hands through the air, making an hourglass shape. “He became angry, we brawled, I was more defending than fighting. Possessive and jealous man just needed to let it out. He went on and on. He said he knew I wanted you, I needed to keep my hands off of you, keep my shirt on in camp, things of that nature.”

“I… I don’t like that.” She furrowed her brow and frowned. She was already having to fight off the sadness of hearing a story about her lost love. Imagining that lost love attacking _Zevran_ was almost too much. Tempering her urge to find something to throw, she spoke with as much patience as she could muster. “No, that makes me feel quite angry.”

“It’s quite alright, Nyla, I assure you. He wasn’t wrong, you’re an attractive woman, and we flirted more than we should have, he did not understand our playing. I should have known better than to say that to him, given what I knew about his insecurities. We were drunk, these things needed to come out. It was resolved in the end. He apologized, I apologized. It was a bonding experience. Anyway.” He continued with a sad sigh, missing his friend keenly. “He was referencing that night, in the letter. I took it to mean that he was, in his light-hearted and distant manner, referencing my attraction to you, and that if something were to come between us…” his voice trailed off and he paused for thought. “Alistair was… smarter, wiser, than most gave him credit.”  

“I know,” she softened, her eyes grew moist with unshed tears. “I don’t blame you for anything. I just wish there was a way you could have told me. While moving forward with you felt good, it wasn’t right. Not with my feelings for Alistair unresolved. Knowing what I know now, I see you as a sort of… gift he sent to me and… it would have made my thinking a little easier. _Maker_ … I hope I’m making sense.”

Zevran looked away from her, nodding and feeling his shame. Shame for not sharing truths that would have made her feel safer, and possibly stopped her from getting so confused and twisted. _You almost killed her…_ he pushed the thought back down.

“Nyla...” He spoke gently, his lips quivering and his eyes closed, he couldn’t look at her. “Why did you go?”

“It felt like I had to... “ She nearly cried at the memory of cold and darkness, facing her death, the war she had waged within herself, how she longed for the warmth of Zevran. She sighed deeply. “It wasn’t planned. I had to rationalize it moment to moment. I regretted it, off and on. Mostly, I’m just glad to be alive. Glad that I’m with you right now. I missed you.”

“Mm,” he mused flatly, not meaning to be cold, he just couldn't feel anything. “You seem different.”

“I still hurt, but it’s different now. I don’t feel overpowered by it. It’s all so hard for me to explain, or maybe I'm just a different kind of crazy. I worked out some very important things as I faced my own end.”

“Share with me?” He looked at her finally, feeling curious, resentful and desperately wanting to know what she gained that was worth all the suffering they endured. All he could see was everything demolished, trust lost.

“I’ll try…” She thought for a few moments. “When Alistair died... I struggled with the burden of my being the one to survive. Alistair said he wanted to be a good king, and killing the archdemon would be his first and last act as king. Well, I wanted to be a good queen, and he took that from me, and my heart as well.” When she looked up, she still had his attention. “I lived, instead of the King of Ferelden. He did my duty and now I'm beginning to feel like I can… forgive us both.” She sighed with the relief of speaking it, and was quiet for a moment. He seemed distant and she longed to feel closer to him, but he was still listening.

“I loved Alistair. I still feel that love, but my darkest times were not only about him. I realize now, it was just the final blow. After he died, my only ally was gone, there was no help for me, no hope. At least, that’s what I had believed at the time.” She leaned in toward Zevran and her voice quivered. “It _seemed_ like I needed to go. It was a rash choosing.” She paused, hoping he would say something. _He looks empty, tired… he’s still grieving_ . _What have I done to him?_

“Zev, I was _afraid._ I felt myself moving on and so quickly and… I was so confused and… I was afraid I was relying on you too much. You helped me see the light, it would have been unfair to make you _be_ the light. The path we were on together… it wasn’t right. I didn’t think I was good for you.”

“I see,” Zevran felt angry for a moment, and then unable to feel much at all. Still cut off from himself, he had no will to search for anything.

“You see.” She repeated his words, crushed by such a simple reply after struggling to share something so heartfelt. What she shared barely grazed the surface of what truly happened, and she was trying so hard! Couldn’t he see how she was struggling? Why couldn't he see her reaching out to him? Cringing and tears welling, she had a strong urge to just… _throttle_ him! “You see?”

“I understand your turmoil, your journey. I understand your rationale.” He spoke plainly. He could see her hurting, normally he would care.

“I see,” she whispered, the apprehension in his gaze hurt, and the _absolute fucking nothing_ he was giving back stung and infuriated her. She prodded him stiffly. “You could tell me what it was like for you.” He stared at her blankly. “Go on. Let me have it.”

“I have nothing to say, Warden. I am not angry with you, I understand you.” He looked toward the fire again, the softness he almost felt for Nyla hurt too much for him to hold his gaze on her. He wasn’t about to let himself go there. It wasn’t safe to feel softness for this woman and he wasn’t even sure why he was still sitting there.

Nyla was not okay with his distance, how he cut himself off from her. It made no sense for him to shut her out _now._ After all they had been through. _As if I don’t matter to him! As if what we had was nothing!_

Looking at him, empty and cold, numb, pushing her away as if she were a stranger. She remembered the way she struck him when he found her in Orlais... startling, how they had come full circle.

“How about starting here...” She stood up, postured and spoke angrily, mimicking his accent, “You ran off into the Deep Roads, leaving me with your horse and all of your shit to deal with!”

Feeling a spark of anger, Zevran glared at her and his lips twitched with an almost imperceptible snarl, his brow furrowed.

“How about,” she continued more passionately, “I thought you were _dead_ and I grieved you for three days!”

Shaking his head, his glare hardened. His lips pursed, taking the shape of disgust, and he clenched his jaw.

“Not quite hitting the mark?” She taunted him, growling in frustration, nearly crying at the thought that occurred to her.

Nyla braced herself to shatter him, and felt remorse for being the one who would solidify such a message. “Warden, I am tired of opening my heart for it to be fractured by my failures.” She ached to hold him, seeing the anguish in his eyes. “I thought I killed you.” She let the words hang there for a moment as his face darkened. “Just like Rinna.”

“Enough!” He jumped up, his heart leaping uncomfortably in his chest. He stormed away from her with a sudden urge to rage and cry. He walked a few wide paces before the upwelling of devastation truly hit him. He strode back to her.

“I believed you were dead and I fucking _suffered._ I _suffered,_ Nyla. I blame myself for not having what you needed, and _yes,_ the wound of Rinna was torn wide fucking open. She would not have bled to death at my feet if I had trusted her. I learned from that and _trusted you._ Oh, I have a _much_ greater understanding of the lessons I learned as a Crow. I have been reckless.”

She hadn’t thought of that. _Why hadn’t I thought of that?_ She had never meant to reaffirm the bullshit the Crows had taught him; the bullshit he miraculously untrained himself from. She met his eyes. Despite Nyla’s desire to be strong, tears spilled down her cheeks. Feeling a deep sense of panic, she felt as though Zevran was lost even to himself.

With bleary eyes Zevran continued passionately. Stiff, angry gestures punctuated his words as he raged at her.

“I had to face it _alone._ My only ally was gone. I had to confront my shame, my failures, my loss, the... the loneliness I was feeling. How weak and foolish I felt, tormented by the shirt you wore because it smelled _just fucking like you_. Tormented by thoughts of how I _ruined_ you with all we had shared. I _longed_ for you, Nyla.” He grew colder, angrier as a thought occurred to him, “I longed for a woman who left me, when I would have given her _anything!_ ”

He turned away from her, quietly growling in Antivan, speaking so quickly she could only pick out a few words. _“Pathetic. Idiocy. Foolishness!”_ Nyla was unsure if he was talking about her or himself. Zevran turned to her and pointed a finger, tears threatening, arms shaking with the rage coursing through him and his voice raised.

“You wanted to be better, you say? You wanted to be _good enough_ for me? _Bullshit!_ There was absolutely _nothing_ wrong with the way you were. I never expected you to become suddenly healed to perfection. I _never_ demanded that of you! Nyla, _I had you!_ Still you chose to run to the Deep Roads of all places, to your own _death,_ rather than trust yourself with me. What we had feels _spoilt_ by your actions, Nyla! And how _dare_ you take away everything I held dear and tell me it was so you could bring me something better!”

“Oh, Maker, darling, no. That's not…” Nyla whimpered, sweeping her hand over her hair. He was right. On all counts, he was right and she felt lightheaded with a wave of overwhelming remorse. She slowed down, breathed. _Keep it together, Cousland, this isn't final. This isn't the truth. He is hurting and needs you now more than ever._ “I’m here,” she struggled, encouraging him to continue. “I have you. I am still your ally.”

“Oh, _now_ she has me!” He growled, and then he gazed at her; soft eyes holding him, seeing right through him.

Zevran cringed, recoiled, nearly sobbing. It was overwhelming that she still cared for him after his onslaught just moments before. How he let loose on her, blaming her for everything _he_ felt, and she still had him. Zevran spoke softer, his hands held with palms up, as if pleading for her understanding.

“Such _hatred_ you bear for yourself. It’s too dark, and I have seen you choose darkness time and time again. I don’t know how to _begin_ to trust you again. I have never been close enough to anyone for them to hurt me like this.” Zevran growled, burying his face in his hands. _What to do with so much hurt…_ When he looked up, Nyla could see his tears. His voice, quivering and rife with fury, was almost foreign to her, _“And I fucking shouldn’t have!”_

“Stop right there,” she commanded with a pointed finger. “Zevran Arainai that is… _utter bullshit!”_ Her eyes went wide and she was shaking. “You know better!”

“Would I have gotten shattered as I did, if I didn’t allow it? If I had done as I was taught and kept myself hardened?” Zevran turned his head away to hide the tears.

“Zevran, it is _normal_ to fall in love _,_ ” Nyla could collapse in upon herself, but she wouldn’t. She would fight this to her very death.

“In love? With _you?”_ He growled, exasperated. “How would you know such a thing?”

“How would I know? It’s not that fucking difficult, Zevran! It’s a _feeling_!” She pressed her fist to her heart.

“Feelings are everywhere,” he waved a dismissive hand at her, trying to push her away, fighting the ache of betrayal. “This tells me nothing.”

“Then I will tell more, since it’s so damned elusive to you,” she growled impatiently. His eyes were on hers; challenging, apprehensive and expectant.

This was harder than she thought.

“It’s when you… you have them. You know they have you.” Staring into tearful, pained eyes, she sighed deeply and thought of him, and let it tumble from her. “Thier smile, their laughter is infectious. You know they’re near just by how the air feels and you let them see your tears… and you want them to know your secrets, and you want to know theirs no matter how dark. They _matter._ Your choices, plans, desires change based on your being with them. There are mysteries within yourself that occur, and unfold as you are with them.”

Nyla began shaking, crying as Zevran stared at her in abject confusion. He wasn’t getting it, _still!_ “You see their hurt and want more than anything to set them free. It’s when you forgive the horrible things they have done even when they can’t.” Pain exploded in her heart, missing Zevran, missing his love. She continued after a few breaths to slow down the tears.

“We all die Zevran, but when you think of your love, and you look at him,” Nyla trembled helplessly, “The weight of death feels so heavy because...” She was seeking the words, gazing into golden eyes, affection gone, replaced by resentment. _Not him. Please, Maker, take anyone but him._

Face contorted from tears, she wavered on her feet, wrapping her arms around herself, trying to steady herself within the storm of anguish all around her. _I lost you, Alistair, and then I stamped out the light… my light… my Zevran…_

She watched him closely, as if it were her last chance to see him. His brow furrowed, he looked frustrated and cold and she felt even further away from him. She _longed_ for him, her heart whimpering under the strain of it.

“Bah!” He waved his hand at her dismissively, “By this logic, I have loved you since a week after knowing you.”

Complete silence, as Zevran felt his own words reverberating in his skin.

 _"Fuuuck!”_ She nodded her agreement through tears, _“Yes!”_ It was the most beautiful thing Nyla had ever heard; so beautiful, so perfect, and it hurt like crazy.

He watched her, his world collapsing around him. He resisted feeling the truth in it; it made the heartbreak that much bigger. This woman had walked away from him forever, _twice,_ caring nothing about him.

Zevran wiped his cheek with the back of his hand and looked at the ground, his lips pursed and trembling with the effort of needing and wanting to express so much. Zevran had never shed so many tears in his life since he found her in Orlais, and words were not enough to erase the damage, the devastation that she repeatedly left in her wake.

“Maker, damn it, Zevran!” She shouted, feeling the despair of having her love within reach but so far from her grasp. He finally saw it, it was right there, _he pointed to it himself, FUCK!_ “You look at what you just said!” Still he would not look at her. She strode closer to him, closing the distance.

She was standing so close. When he met her gaze, she was sobbing, crumbling to pieces, and he tried hard not to weep with her.

“I’m sorry I left you. You had me, but I did not have you. I never meant to hurt you like this. _Te amo,_ Zevran. I love you.” Nyla spoke her truth, and she never imagined she would have the chance to say those precious words to another man.

Nyla braced herself for another cold dismissal. She just wanted to fucking _touch_ him, make him hear her promises, make him feel her love. She was _ready,_ she was there with wide open arms! _Fuck!_ So frustrated, so much regret, so much _hurt!_

It was the second time anyone had ever said those words to Zevran, and he immediately remembered the first with startling clarity. It shook him to his core, throttled him awake and his full attention snapped to his Warden.

Moments passed, filled with the sounds of her weeping, and the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears. _The bravery seems to come so easily to her…_ Zevran softened a little more.

His Warden did leave, but she had _returned_ , and the gesture was no longer lost on him. His walls were blown over completely by the force of her words; he could not dismiss what he heard and how he felt.

Nyla _loved_ him. She loved him enough to return, bear the full brunt of his ire, and keep loving him. If anyone deserved his bravery, it was her.

Years ago, he stood over Rinna and abandoned her, spat on her with a scowl. She was dead, and he still could not believe he was capable of such cruelty. _I’m sorry I abandoned you, Rinna._ And he felt his own forgiveness coming to light.

Zevran was standing mere inches from his Warden, and she was crying; this was unacceptable.

“Te amo, Nyla.” He spoke softly. He said it, and it wasn’t as hard as he imagined it would be. It felt right, he felt liberated, and he wanted to say it again.

Her breath caught in her throat, stunned to silence. _Why did I ever doubt you, my love?_

“¿Te puedo tocar?” _May I touch you?_ His eyes were soft, his cheeks were wet.

Zevran closed the short distance between them. Her eyes followed his, and he saw longing and pain within them. She nodded, he embraced her, and Nyla wept with the relief of his touch.

He swayed with her gently, holding her as if she were a precious and fragile thing. It was a sweet relief, having her back in his arms, and when her arms wrapped around him, it felt like home.

“Te amo, Nyla.” He whispered, his lips softly meeting hers for a few sweet moments. “I am yours.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Resolution and smut.

“What happened?” Nyla whispered, weeping and clinging to him, feeling shaken and disoriented. So cold just moments before, he said he _loved_ her just as she was on the cusp of resigning herself to grieving him; cold, hardened, angry, and suddenly all had shifted. _Te amo,_ so soft and affectionate. It sounded heartfelt, felt so true, and it made little sense to her.

“Breathe.” He hushed her gently, held her tight, his hand running over her hair.

He was trying to soothe her, it was beautiful and heartbreaking, and she wailed her remorse in the warmth of his protective embrace. _What I did to us…_ All Nyla knew is that she simply had to become less stupid, and she didn’t know how.   

“I’m sorry, Zevran,” her voice barely a whisper. _‘Such hatred you bear for yourself,’_ he had said, and she had never seen it so clearly before. Every word Zevran had shouted began to occur as truth, and she sank hard and fast under the weight of them. _Woah now, Cousland. It wasn’t the truth. It wasn’t final._ _He was hurting._

Zevran hushed her again, “It’s alright. Breathe. I have you.”

Confusing, how difficult it was to receive his love after she fought so fiercely for it. _I don’t deserve you;_ the thought made her feel sick. _No. I wanted this. I fought fucking hard for this, I would fight for it again._

“Te amo. Perdón.” She wept against him, it was all she had.

“Nyla,” he chuckled, running fingers through her hair. She looked up at him, confused. “No need to apologize forever. Just don’t do it again.”

“Is it really that simple?"

“Bah. You like to complicate things.” He idly swiped her tears away with gentle fingertips. “I can either choose to forgive you and heal with you, or I can choose not to, and leave. I cannot embrace the latter when I love you. Staying, healing with you, is perfect.”

“Will you say more?” Nyla rested a palm on his chest and drank in his soft expression with interest.

“I was too quick to abandon Rinna. I do not care to repeat this mistake. How often does a former Crow get a second chance at love when a first time seems near impossible?” Zevran closed his eyes for a moment and sighed. “I am sorry, Nyla, for unleashing on you as I did. I hope you believe, however true these things felt at the time, they were not... absolute."

“I know.” She smiled tearfully and leaned into him. “Those things needed to come out. I know. That's why I provoked you.”

“I knew what you were doing, and it confounds me how effective it was even as I knew. What I fear is that I have been too hard on you, and you will use my words to feed that voice that tells you that you do not deserve love. I do not want you to sink farther into self loathing, as you are wont to do at the slightest provocation.”

Nyla laughed, pulling away from him and swiping away a tear tickling her cheek. “I’m struggling a tiny bit, in that regard. Though, it doesn’t help that I’m fucking tired right now.”

Zevran guided her to the bedroll, holding her hand. They laid together, facing each other. Her head rested on his outstretched arm, one of Nyla’s legs between his, her other draped over his hip. Their bodies always seemed to be drawn to this position, fitting so comfortably together. Zevran pulled her more snugly against him; it felt like home.

Sighing deeply, Nyla curled into him. The familiar scent of him brought her to tears. She was _alive!_ In his arms! It was everything she had wanted!

“Look at me, Nyla.” He waited patiently for her to pull herself together. She sighed, sniffled, and big, dark eyes looked at him. It was beautiful, she was _right there;_  he couldn’t help but smile. “Te amo. It’s going to be okay.” He spoke seriously, softly.

“Te amo.” Nyla kissed him, “I know.”

  
  


*******

  
Zevran woke to his love sleeping in his arms; the only thing that could make this more perfect was less clothing. Yesterday he was alone, so dark and empty, unsure of what to do with his life, if anything. After going through whatever it was that Nyla had gone through, she arrived to find him in his decrepit state, and despite her own exhaustion, her hurts, how thin she had been stretched, he became her priority. It was touching, remembering how hard she fought for him, how hard she cried. So many tears, so much passion, he admired her strength. Running fingers through her silky hair, he leaned in to catch her scent. So perfect.

He had unleashed on her, and she took every blow and rebutted with love, and when he had gone too far, she held him firm. ‘ _You know better!’_ Somehow, he felt more whole and more free than ever in his life and he wondered if this could have come to be if she hadn’t walked out on him and returned. He let his hand draw a lazy pattern along her ear, her forehead, along her jaw.

Nyla woke slowly to a tickling along the bridge of her nose. It was annoying, and it took a few moments for her to open her eyes and meet Zevran’s smile. She chuckled, scrunching her nose, “Good morning my love, that is _very_ annoying.”

“Isn’t it, though?” He chuckled with her. “Next time I should make a beeline for your erogenous zones.”

“Like Zevran’s perfect ears?” She purred, pulling him closer with the leg draped over his hip. She gazed into his eyes, smiling, dragging her fingers from the tip of his ear and along to his jawline. He shuddered with a strong urge to bite.

“My Warden looks so pleased with herself.” Running a hand along her clothed thigh, he kept going; over her ass, up the back of her shirt, caressing soft skin and gently grasping her supple breast.

It felt different to caress Nyla explicitly as his love. Permission, freedom, relaxation and ease, her responses were more open and generous as she sighed his name with a whispered _"I love you.”_ Burning passion and desire accompanied their shared love; _now_ he was ready to take her in every position, bend her over every surface… he was ready to make her come undone, unabashedly and without restraint. No holds barred. His Warden was done for.

“Ooh, muy simpático!” _Very nice!_ Nyla sighed contentedly as Zevran ran a calloused hand along her body.

“Nyla…” Zevran grabbed her hip and nudged her away from him, until she laid on her back. He indulged in caressing the skin of her flat belly. _My Warden likes gentle touches…_ he leaned in and kissed her. “Tell me about how you know Antivan. Why did you keep it secret?”

“My Antivan sister-in-law taught me. She laughed at my accent and I didn’t want to embarrass myself in front of you.”

“Your accent is fine. Sexy, even, mi amore.”

“Of course you would think that.” Nyla chuckled, letting her eyes close, sighing, indulging in his wandering touches. “I have refined it while listening to you.”

“Your wordage is a bit rudimentary.” He pressed himself closer against her and pulled her in for another kiss with the brush of a gentle hand. “I can help you learn. I like hearing you speak it.”

He sighed, brushing the tip of his nose against hers; _I love you, I trust you, this is real and uncontrived._ The way she welcomed his intimate touches still felt novel, and he hoped it would always be this way.

“Te amo. I would love to learn from you.” Nyla could not recall a time when her heart had felt so calm and full. “It feels perfect with you right now,” she whispered. “I missed you, Zevran. I missed your touch. The warmth of you.”

It was one thing to know it, and another thing to hear it. It was too sweet, too intimate, too dreamy, Zevran wanted more and he needed her to stop, so he kissed her. His hand wandered soft skin until she was whimpering beneath his touches; yes, this is how he wanted his woman. Melting under his ministrations, writhing, speaking with her hips. His hand wandered lower, beneath her smalls, fingers sliding easily between folds wet and swollen with desire.

He wanted to share with her what she had done for him, continually did for him; words didn’t come easily, however, his warden did, and he knew this language. _She is about to start cursing._

“Mmm… _shit.”_ She groaned and pulled from their kiss. Lips pink and subtly swollen, her head tossed back and hips undulated gently.

So ready and eager for his touch, with every stroke of his palm and touch of his fingers she came undone, and she clung to him as two fingers slid inside her. It took a moment for her to realize her pants were gone, and with a breathy chuckle, had no desire to ask how. Nyla surrendered to him completely.

The clenching in her belly was intolerable, delicious, and she trembled uncontrollably, clinging to her love in helpless abandon. So needy, heart full to bursting, her legs wanted to close themselves as every muscle in her core contracted. She moaned, curling in on herself. His satisfied sighs and breathy _‘Si, mi amore'_ made her cling hard to him. He followed her lead, letting her pull him against her chest where she felt safer, guarded, and ready for the next wave that crashed into her. She was not prepared for it, and it left her feeling vulnerable as she wailed and held to him more tightly.

Zevran had always wanted to do this to her, and it surprised him how displaying his desire to please her hit his heart as strongly as it hit his loins. She clung to him, and he leaned over her, still lying on the bedroll beside her. His Warden unabashedly writhed against his hand, letting him divulge in showing her his expertise. When she came on his fingers a third time, she grunted his name, and he pulled away slowly, letting her body gently become accustomed to the absence of his hand.

“Fuck.” She panted, trembled, eyes still closed, head foggy and muddled by what she had been through. “What was that?”   

“Zevran’s expertise, mi amor,” he whispered, leaning over to kiss her. This was everything he wanted right now; only touch, only pleasure, without words. He gently helped her out of her shirt, leaving her naked before him. Nyla rested back on her forearms, dark eyes looking up at him in lust and need. Long legs, curves, breasts, pale, silky smooth skin bared for him to do with as he pleased.  

Breathless, her blood on fire, Nyla pulled at the laces of his breeches while he slipped his shirt over his head. Her hand wrapped around his cock and it was the first time she had the opportunity to grasp him this way. Erotic, lovely, intimate, she suddenly felt very possessive as she pulled his mouth to hers with her other hand on the back of his neck.

He moaned against her mouth, letting her indulge and explore his body. Her hand wandered lower, gently cupping, massaging, it felt too sweet. As always, eager yet so gentle, and Zevran imagined she would not enjoy pain with her pleasure. He worked his pants off as her hands wandered his body.

As their bodies moved together, she was slowly, in her eagerness, working her way on top of him. Her pleasure was his desire, and likewise for his woman. It was perfect, as she pressed on his shoulder gently and slung a long leg over his hip.

His Nyla thought she was going to top him. _Nope._ Grabbing her thighs, he flipped her gently to her back. Settling between her legs, and hovering above her leaning on his palms, he dragged his length along her pink, smirking down at her as she bit her lip and arched her back with a whimpered  _"fuck me.”_

He thrusted into his woman eagerly. _My woman. My Warden._ His Warden was _his_ and he was fucking her. He growled and rested his forearms on the ground by her head to feel her breasts against him, reach her mouth with his, to feel her breath on his lips as she panted and moaned.

“Te amo.” Nyla whimpered against his mouth, meeting his serious gaze as his hips met hers with force, the soft sound of flesh meeting flesh echoing around them. His sweat dripped onto her and it stoked her desire. “Fuck... te amo.”

“Say it again.” Zevran whispered, feeling her grow tighter around him. He could feel his Warden’s body trying to come for him again, and he wanted it.

“Te amo…” Nyla whimpered. “Oh fuck… te amo, Zevran.” Her hands wandered, legs gliding along him as her hips rolled. So close. So close to her heart, so close to his skin, his sweat, his breathy grunts and groans and she clung to him, welcoming all he offered her. She felt her love as keenly as her desire, and Maker, she never wanted to be anywhere else.

“Te amo.” Zevran whispered as he pounded her. Her heat tight around him, she held him closer, back arching, moaning breathily in his ear which she graced with gentle nibbles. “My Warden,” he asserted breathlessly, pulling gently away from her panting form to meet her eyes.

Her hands caressed his chest and stomach as he rose to his knees. Resting palms on her lower back, Zevran lifted her lithe body until she could no longer reach him, her shoulders resting on the bedroll.

“Te amo,” Nyla moaned, running her hands along his forearms; the only part of his body she could reach. The distance did not make her feel any further away from him. She could feel him all around her, immersed in him, heart, mind and body crying out in celebration of being with him.

Drinking him in with heartfelt desire, he was beautiful, unabashedly meeting her eyes with a confident, cocky, lustful stare. _This was_ what it was like to fuck a Zevran who knew he is loved.

“Te amo,” Nyla spoke again as his jaw clenched and he moved her hips to drag her along his length more slowly. “You’re holding back.” She lessened her grip on his forearms, caressing the places where her fingers unwittingly squeezed him too tightly.

“With purpose, mi amor.” He smirked, lowering her gently to the ground. “Bend over.”

So she did, with haste. With eager anticipation she looked back at him, her eyes raking over his nudity, so masculine with intricate musculature glistening with a sheen of sweat. He caught her indulging in the sight of him. He enjoyed her stare, loved when she looked at him with such heat and love. This woman who held his heart for so long, who he revered, unknowingly longed for all this time, was on her hands and knees, wiggling her bare ass at him playfully. It was perfect, and there was far too much distance between them. Settling on his knees between her calves, she was still watching him, and she smiled.

“Te amo,” Nyla spoke, sultry and inviting, watching his shoulders subtly relax. “I am yours.”

His hand lowered to rest on her bottom, the other rubbing his cock along her folds before entering her slowly. He closed his eyes for a few moments to indulge in the sensations of their first time in this position. He wanted to remember it, hold it as the precious memory it was. Precious, like her, and the love she shared with him, and there was still too much distance between them.

Coming up from her hands, her back met his chest as he moved toward her; they moved together. Turning her head, Zevran met her for a heated kiss, his arms wrapping around her, caressing her breasts, up to her neck which he held delicately. They moaned against each others mouths, kisses needy and rich as she bounced emphatically against him; this, he couldn’t take much more of.

 _"Nyla…”_ he groaned desperately; he was going to release inside of her, and it stoked his desire. He bit down on her shoulder and held her close. Closer to his heart where he could feel her warmth, keep her safe and love her forever. One hand still resting around her throat, his other hand wandered down her body to gently stroke her folds.

Panting, so close, teeth pressed into her shoulder, she was with him at the point of no return as his hand worked her and he filled her so perfectly, new sensations making her tremble in his firm grasp. Lusty, desperate groans by her ear, he curled around her and she came undone in the wake of his passion. Lovers trembling together, calling out to each other, moaning, groaning, her arms reached behind her with a need to hold onto something. They sank to the bedroll together, Zevran still clinging to her, he held tight while kissing her bitten shoulder.

“Sweet Maker... “ Nyla panted as she reached back to lovingly caress his thigh. Her heart slowing, she relaxed in his arms. His heart beat so hard against her back, she smiled. _So beautiful. So alive_. “I wonder if sex will get easier. Maker's breath.”

“Mmm.” Zevran chuckled, letting his arm rest around her, his hand lay on her heart. “No. I insist on wearing out my Warden in every encounter. And apparently, myself as well.”

“Rest, my sweet.” Nyla pulled away briefly to blanket them, covering their nudity more so than keep them warm; they were already _quite_ warm.

Holding her tight, cock throbbing, heart full, he drifted off to the sweetness of her words, her scent, thoughts of coercing her into the lake after they woke from their post-coital nap.

This was perfect.   

  



	12. Te Amo

*****3 Weeks Later: Planasene Forest*****

 

Sun barely risen, Zevran woke, and there was no naked Warden in his arms. With a sleepy sigh and satisfying stretch, he decided this was unacceptable. Slipping on his breeches, he went to find her; if she wasn’t in camp, there was only one other place she would be.

Soft grass underfoot, he padded toward the lake with the intent to sneak up on her and see what opportunities presented themselves. He smiled, remembering when he snuck up on Nyla last week: the world a blur as she strategically grabbed him from behind her, rolled him across her back, throwing him over her shoulder and into the lake. It was sexy.

Perhaps he would find her fishing again. Losing arrow after arrow in the lake floor with a frustrated huff; it was not as if she could go after them. _Nyla, mi amore, if you cannot manage to go after the arrow, how were you going to retrieve the fish?_ Zevran quickened his pace and chuckled at what he must look like; a smiling, shirtless, shoeless elf prancing through the forest. He would have felt better about it if there were someone around for him to shrug at nonchalantly.

He stopped short with a gasp. His Warden was waist deep in water, her back to him, watching the sun rise over the trees. She was naked in the lake, _alone,_ and he could not imagine what effort she had put forth to get that far from the waterline by herself. Fair skin subtly darkened from consistent sunbathing, lively, animated, she was _his,_ and more beautiful than he had ever seen her.

Dreamy, was the word that came up as he watched her turn and glide palms over the surface of the water to watch it ripple. Zevran imagined his Warden’s heart was racing beneath her peaceful exterior. The rippling is what scared her the most! Apart from splashing. _‘Because the water hits me’_ was her reasoning, and it left him more confused than before he had begun his inquiry.  

Folding his arms across his chest, he leaned against a tree just to watch and wait, he could not imagine startling her in this beautiful moment. With cupped hands she wet her arms, very slowly and with care. She did the same again, wetting her breasts and he bit his lip, face feeling hot, arousal stirring. Wet hands gliding along her neck, across her throat, down her arm again, caressing the underside of her breasts with head tossed back, so erotic, sensual... _Does she know I’m watching her?_

“Hola, mi amore.” Nyla purred as her dark eyes flicked up to him. “¿Me sigues?” _Join me?_

All he could manage was to blush and smirk as she beckoned him with a graceful gesture of her hand. Zevran approached the water and felt content in simply watching her, admiring her bravery, the sultry smile she was wearing just for him, and her bosom. She rested her hands on her hips and grinned; Zevran responded in turn with a chuckle. _Te amo._  

_“Something touched my leg!”_ Nyla looked around in a panic and flopped over with a splash and a startled squeal. Zevran couldn’t help laughing. _“Maker’s… fucking… shit, Zevran!”_ She stumbled her way toward him, slipping on stones. _“How is this funny?!”_

“Behind you!” He pointed, managing to withhold laughter long enough to speak.

_"Bullshit!”_ Nyla shrieked in disbelief, but she still scrambled faster.

By the time she made it out of the water, Zevran was sitting on the ground, guffawing and holding his sides. Despite herself, Nyla chuckled between startled curses; his laughter was contagious.

_“You_ are an asshole!” She panted, sitting on the grass next to him, watching him lay on his back and struggle for breath through subsiding laughter.

_“You_ ruined our sexy moment!” Pointing a finger, he held back laughter at seeing her lips pursed with repressed laughter.

“A _fish_ of undetermined size ruined our sexy moment!” She flicked her fingers at him, little droplets of water landing on his cheeks. “And my ass hurts.”

“Is this from last night or-”

“Maker’s breath!” She laughed heartily, snorted loudly, and covered her heated face with her hands. “Such cruelty, mi amore!”

“Cruelty? Those were not tortured sounds you made.” With a chuckle, he pinched her side and she swatted his hand playfully. “Te amo, Nyla.”

“Mm? What was that? I couldn’t hear you over how utterly embarrassed I am.”

“Te amo, Nyla. Zevran will stop teasing you now.”

“You won’t. It will come up again, and again, and again.” She smirked, and slung a long leg around his waist to straddle him.

“Nyla…” he sighed in mock annoyance. “Always getting wet and climbing on top of me.”

“You’re relentless.” Nyla looked down at him while lazily tracing the tattoos down his chest. His smile was peaceful, happy, and his eyes were on hers, gazing at her in unadulterated adoration. She was naked and on top of him, and this was not the usual reaction. “Something on your mind, love?”

“Mmhm.” Zevran reached into his pocket, Nyla accommodating his reach by moving her leg out of the way. “Here… it seems an appropriate moment to give you this.”

“I may know what it is, given I am naked and on top of you,” Nyla jested with a smirk. A glimmer of gold between his thumb and forefinger, she looked at him sideways, then to his ear, and caught on. “I have never seen you without it. I thought something was different.”

“I acquired it on my very first job for the Crows. A Rivaini merchant prince, and he was wearing a single, jeweled earring when I killed him. In fact, that was about all he was wearing.”

“You said that _rather_ suggestively.” She spoke playfully. “So did you fuck this man to death or-”

“I am trying to be serious.” Zevran chortled, despite himself. “I thought it was beautiful, and took it to mark the occasion. I have had it ever since.”

“That is a lot of sentiment, for a Crow.” Nyla rested a hand on his cheek, eyes misting over. “You always have been extraordinary.”

“I… would like to give it to you, as a token of affection.” His face felt hot as he held it out to her, his heart beating hard. Zevran had never given anyone a gift before. He wanted her to accept it. It meant so much to him, _she_ meant so much to him. The earring belonged with her, and she with him; it was perfect. “¿Lo aceptas?” _Will you accept this?_

 

Beautiful art done by @withoutafuss on tumblr.    
This is a link to her Deviantart page: [http://withoutafuss.deviantart.com/](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fwithoutafuss.deviantart.com%2F&t=NDhiZGE5MWU1OGEyNjMyM2E1NDljNWM1NzhmNTkzZjFjZTFjOTczZCxoanZsQVhCMg%3D%3D)  
This is a link to her Society6: [https://society6.com/holepsi](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fsociety6.com%2Fholepsi&t=OTE2NTA3OGFkMjdmMjQ5MzUzZjU2NWYxYmYzOThhYzIxN2YxOWExMyxoanZsQVhCMg%3D%3D)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a story 2 in the works. Literally cannot stop writing these two. 
> 
> Thanks for reading :)


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